Once the Strings Are Cut
by Sapphire Ox
Summary: [REUPLOADED!] Depressed and alone, Gaelin's purchase of Toulon's puppets was only thought to be another addition to his collection. But when former bullies start dying off and his love for the small toys starts to awaken his own darkness, Gaelin realizes this companionship is a double-edged sword. Will he finally stop the legacy of bloodshed, or fall to his hidden demons?
1. Prologue

**Once the Strings Are Cut**

 **Prologue: Flash Forward**

* * *

Oh god, oh god, oh god, _ohgodohgodohgodohgodohgod-_

I barely hear the knife clatter to the floor.

It's like I can sense everything and yet nothing at the same time. The sticky feel of it on my face, the coppery smell coating the air like air freshener, the way it's almost black in the dim lighting. How it grows, flooding into the tile spaces and cracks like a tidal wave. The way it seeps from the smaller cuts in his neck and the huge gaping hole from the knife.

How did it come to this? _Why_ did it come to this?

This wasn't supposed to happen. It wasn't supposed to be like this. Nobody was supposed to get hurt. I just wanted to protect them, I just wanted- _this wasn't supposed to happen goddammit!_

Something catches my eye. I force myself to look away.

They're all staring at me, like they're just waiting for me to say something. They don't seem to notice how the blood pools around their ankles.

What do they expect me to do? Congratulate them? Tell them they did good? Did- did they think I wanted this happen? That I wanted Carter to die?!

I can feel blood drip off my fingers when a horrifying revelation comes to mind.

Kailani, Holden, Tony, Mr. Frost, Sadie, and now Carter..oh, Carter-

Oh god, it all makes sense.

My head feels fuzzy. My face feels numb. I feel like I can't breathe. I look down. Blade's looking at me, those hollow sockets feeling like they're staring right through my soul somehow. His face and hair are drenched in blood, little droplets sliding down his jaw like dew drops.

It barely registers that I'm screaming.


	2. Teenage Dirtbag

**Chapter I: Teenage Dirtbag**

* * *

"Hey, Gaelin, did you catch the announcement today?"

I snap out of the sudden trance, hesitantly looking up to the voice's owner. Tracy Codswell is looking at me, her large white glasses slipping down her nose as she cradles her binder close to her chest. Her curly dark hair is gathered on top of her head in a bun. I twiddle my pencil, forcing myself to meet her eyes.

"Um, n-no."

Tracy gives me a smile- whether it be happy that she gets to tell me or out of pity, I don't know- and reaches up to her binder, pulling out a piece of orange paper and handing it to me. I look it over. There's a giant picture of well-dressed figures on stage, the words _Show Us Your Oscar-worthy Skills!_ in big wacky-font.

"The drama club is hosting auditions for the spring play, and we need a new crew for the costume department to help paint the set and fix up the props. I was thinking that maybe you'd be interested; I think you'd like it," she explains, her tone having a hopeful tone to it.

I just look at her. I feel bad when I see her shift from foot to foot, realizing I've made her uncomfortable. She pushes her glasses up, a bit of desperation to her voice now as she rambles, "I mean, I just heard that you used to be in art club and were like, um, really good with colors and sewing, and we just really need more people to help backstage, and I just thought you'd like that kind of stuff!"

I rub the back of my neck and turn away from her gaze, silently already cutting down her offer. Having to be around people, showing them what I do in my spare time? Probably having to explain _why_ I do it in my spare time? That's a disaster waiting to happen. No reason to give them more reasons to think I'm a freak more than they already think I am-

"Yeah, _Palelin_ , you should join! Help them design all the pretty dresses!" A raspy voice snorts, a gaggle of cackles following along with it.

One thing I've never understood about movies and books about high schools are why the bullies are always the jocks, the cheerleaders, all the so-called 'conformist' crowds. How you should always aspire to be the 'not like everyone else' person and love you for you. I don't know what stuff the people who write all those teen horror movies are smoking, but that's frankly a load of crap. In reality, everyone's like everyone else, and the more you try not to be like everyone else, the more you _become_ like everyone else. There's always someone who's mean and cruel to someone, and no matter what crowd you surf with- the hipsters, the jocks, the scene kids, the nerds, the burnouts- there's always going to be someone who wants you to change, someone who thinks you're not good enough, that you're fake, and no matter what, nobody's truly different. We're all just two sides of the same coin.

For example, Kailani Makoa. She's not popular or preppy- she's on the volleyball team, but she has no celebrity status like some of the other girls, say, Mercedes De la Cruz (according to the rumors she's not even that good). In terms of looks, she's pretty enough, but she's no Angelina Jolie. In fact, not a lot have exactly high opinions of her.

She meets almost none of the cliches that prepares you as a kid for a bully, and she still makes my life hell all the same.

I refuse to look in her direction, trying to not let it show that she gets to me. I look up enough to see Tracy shoot them a look, pouting her lips out and narrowing her eyes disapprovingly. Trying to ignore them is hard, though, especially when I feel Kailani's stare bordering into my back. Finally giving up, I turn my head. She's sitting at one of the lunch tables with her little group of stoners, a devilish smirk on her face. I give her a slight glare, but like a coward, I can't meet her gaze.

"Leave him alone, Kailani," I hear Tracy scold.

"What?" Kailani responds, "I'm just trying to encourage him. It does a mind a good to get out and meet people. Even the circus sideshow needs a friend!"

Before I can even react, she's strolled right up to me and has an arm around my shoulders; out of the corner of my eye, I can still see the mischief in her dark eyes, the way her smile quirks up indicating anything but kindness is in mind. I can feel the skin on my knuckles stretch from balling them into fists, the pressure of the pencil making my palms hurt. But I don't say anything, or push Kailani off of me.

I never do.

"I mean, you might want to be careful, though, Tracy. You never know where poor Palelin might put those art supplies- word on the street is he's quite the kinky boy!" Kailani mocks, pushing our cheeks together before she roughly ruffles my hair, shoving my head aside.

 _Palelin._ Like I'm her little damn dog or something.

Tracy leans forward, her nose scrunched up in annoyance, "You and I both know those are just rumors you like to spread, Kailani! I mean it, leave him alone!"

Kailani just flips her the bird before turning around, taking the opportunity to flick my ear before walking back, all the others giggling like it's the funniest thing in the world. I don't know why she likes to target me so much, or what I ever did to make her decide I was in such dire need of being treated like a doormat. All I know is that ever since last year- when my life basically went to hell- she saw how much I didn't say when someone did me wrong, and ever since Kailani has come after me like a red tailed hawk after a little rabbit.

God, do I hate her.

I can feel my ear burning where her nails hit the skin, my lip starting to hurt where I started to bite it. I can feel a whole new set of eyes- Tracy's- on me. She starts to approach, putting one hesitant foot in front of the other.

"Gaelin-" she starts, but I don't let her continue. I don't want to think about it. All I want to do is disappear.

I mumble out how I'll think about looking into the club (though mentally it's a definite no) and gather my things, not wanting to look her in the eye as I try to storm away. Before I'm even three steps, though, I feel something hit me in the back of the head, making me stumble. I yelp when I feel cold liquid splash against the back of my neck, soaking my shirt and jacket. I turn around to spot the projectile, spotting a half-empty can of Fanta, the soda spilling out onto the floor. I hear laughing again, and sure enough, Kailani and her friends are howling away, one of them making the L-sign on their forehead as they point.

My nails dig into my jacket. I want to yell. I want to throw things, punch a wall, march right up to them and slap those lopsided grins right off.

But I don't. I just walk off, knowing there's more to come tomorrow.

* * *

 _Note: YES, I am back! Along with this story- bigger and (hopefully) better than ever!_

 _First, I'd like to thank all my followers who are still with me even after the long hitaus and the shifts in fandoms. You guys are the best. Why'd I disappear, you may ask? The answer's quite simple, and yet rather complicated. First, I'm in my senior year, so that's already stressful enough with tests and final deadlines. Not only that, but since last year I've been taking college classes, and that makes you busy af. I also got a job over the summer, so pretty much when I'm not in school or doing homework, I'm working. Luckily, though, I've been on winter break for the past week, so I'm aiming to write as much as I can in the next few weeks- which includes this story and my current original story on Fictionpress._

 _And secondly, if some of you were around since the beginning- or since I first started Deceitful Things- you know I already had this story up and then I deleted it. You may also know some things have changed- the most obvious being that "Gale" is now "Gaelin." Why? Well, several things: First, let me just say it's hard- and I mean HARD- to write a story when you're not as involved in the fandom anymore. It was why I lost touch with the original script of OTSAC, and it's why it's been so difficult for me to continue Milestones- you start lacking motivation, passion. The second reason is is that I **hated** how everything was turning out- I hated the fact that I despise high school cliches (the bitchy promiscuous popular cheerleader, the 2D two-faced abusive mother) and yet I put them in my story, so yeah, that definitely all had to go. Finally, it also came to a point where I felt the writing was half-assed; I felt like I was writing just to update then actually be invested in the story, and if there's one thing I think is a big no-no in writing, it's that. _

_But lately, I've gotten back into the Puppet Master series (especially now with the announcement of the Axis Termination movie!) and just got really invested in all that I planned to do in the story that never was, and that just really motivated me to start again. So here we are: Strings is back, and I am back!_

 _So there's that. Like I said, I can't promise a regular update, but I don't plan on months-long hiatuses or anything (the maximum wait I'll try to keep is one month). I can only ask that you all understand that I take great priority in producing well-written, quality content, and whether you believe it or not, it can be very difficult (this chapter took a whole day to write) to do that- it's all a matter of the writing format, the scenes playing out, the character interaction and dialogue, everything._

 _Thank you all for your patience and for being there for me on my growth as an author (don't worry, gigantic author's notes won't be common)._

 _~CF_


	3. The Order

**Chapter II: The Order**

* * *

I walk home, stuck in my thoughts. The day's actually nice out after this whole season of rain and wind- bright blue sky, the rays warm and welcoming, highlighting the red and oranges of the leaves. Still, the chill of the breeze makes my cheeks feel like an ice sculpture. I scrunch my shoulders up and huddle into the collar of my jacket, wishing I brought my scarf with me.

A perfect opposite to my mood. It's not the sun's fault, though, it's been like this for a while now.

A car passes on the road, the engine rather loud. I look up; it's a bright red Corvette, the driver a stereotypical young East Coast-looking couple who are obviously going thirty over the speed limit the way it speeds down the road in a school zone. It makes a sharp turn at the right, the wheels screaming on the asphalt . The sound awakens a familiar feeling of dread in the pit of my stomach, a niggling worm of despair thrashing around as memories begin to arise.

I shake my head, realizing that my breathing's become shallow, trying to push it all back before it overwhelms me like it manages to do every other damn day. My hands are shaking. I take two deep breaths before I force my feet forward, blocking out reminders of that night out of my mind. Finally making it to the beige house at the end of the street, I take a deep breath, already dreading the hypothetical conversations bound to come up as soon as I walk through the house. A brief thought comes into my head about turning back, but I ignore it, finally stepping into my house, being greeted by the familiar scent of Pine-Sol.

"Gaelin, is that you?" I hear my mom ask from the kitchen, before she walks out. I give her a half-smile. She smiles warmly as she strolls over, giving me a hug and kissing my cheek. I relax into her embrace, inhaling her smell of perfume and paint. She must've just gotten back from a show. The feel of her long fingers sliding up my shoulders feels reassuring, full of love and warmth.

"How was school?" she asks.

I shrug. "It...it was okay."

She pulls away, her hands on my shoulders, her eyebrows scrunched in doubt and her mouth set in a frown. Mom's always been good with detecting what's under the surface. Or maybe I just suck at hiding my emotions.

"Did anything happen?"

Her eyes are outlined in kohl and her eyeshadow is a mix of turquoise and aqua, making the blue of her eyes seem brighter. It makes it even harder to look at her.

"N-no," I try to ease out of her grip, focusing my attention on the floor. Already I can feel my anxiety boiling up. My palms feel all sweaty and my heart feels like it's about to burst out of my chest. Mom has a gaze like a hawk, though, and grips my shoulders, cementing me to the spot. I feel the edge of her nails when she grips my chin, forcing me to look at her.

"Gael', don't lie to me."

"I-I'm not. Nothing happened-"

"Are you sure?" she questions, her gaze piercing. I don't say anything; if I do, it will be all the wrong things, all the stuff I don't want to burden Mom with knowing. She has to put up with enough of me already. I look away, folding into myself. I glance at her. She's still frowning. I can see all the questions forming in the back of her eyes. All the things she words she can't find but wants to say.

Finally, Mom lets me go, realizing she's not going to get anything out of me. I back away a little, wanting to crawl into a ball.

"Honey...you know you can talk to me about anything, right?"

I nod, even though I'm pretty sure we both know that's not going to happen anytime soon. I start fiddling with the rubber band on my wrist, snapping it so it hits my skin. It hurts slightly, but it gives me something to focus on other than having to talk to Mom. I can still feel her looking at me- most likely pleading, silently begging me to open up, probably confused herself on what to do- but finally, I hear her heels on the wooden floor going back towards the kitchen.

"Dinner will be ready in an hour."

I mutter an 'okay' before I rearrange my things and dash up to my room, where I can finally be alone to my thoughts. A pang of guilt rides up when I think about the expression on her face, how much I can hear the pleading in her tone, the silent begging for me to open up to her like I used to. _Don't lie, you love letting her suffer_ , a voice in the back of my head says, _You don't tell her anything because you're selfish. She's trying to help you and you just brush her aside like a piece of trash_. Another point to add onto the scale of self-hatred.

 _It's not like that_ , the other side of my conscious argues.

 _Bullshit_ , the former argues.

I grit my teeth, fast walking to my door, trying to shut down the ensuing argument in my head. The stroll to my room suddenly becomes a race, like getting there any faster is somehow going to stop the racing of my thoughts. I nearly fall to the floor when I get the door open, slamming it behind me. I rest my back against the wall, closing my eyes and taking a deep breath. I feel exhausted. My limbs suddenly feel like lead and my head is all fuzzy, like what little energy I had for the day has been sucked away. I drop my bag against my desk and kick off my shoes. The cloak of fatigue is already taking over as I fall face first onto my bed, not even bothering to pull up the covers.

 _You said you were going to start on your English paper today_ , the good voice in my head mentions.

Later. All I want to do right now is sleep, disappear from the world for a moment.

Nothing else, but sleep.

* * *

The feel of someone's hand on my shoulder brings me out of the darkness. My eyelids flutter, the haze of grogginess making me unfocused, before I realize I'm being shaken lightly, a small voice talking to me.

"Gailey?"

I squint at the sudden brightness of the room, looking to the left. A small smile grows on my face when I realize the voice's owner. Josie is standing near the edge, slightly swinging back and forth with her arms behind her back. I rub the heaviness from my eyes as I ask, "What are you doing here, Josie-cat?"

Josie smiles at me and points to the door, "Mommy says dinner's ready."

"Well, can you go tell Mommy that I'll be down in a second?"

She gives me a wide smile- her missing teeth and dimples making it all the more adorable- and gives me a big nod, turning around and racing downstairs. I smile after her, before it slowly disappears. Mom said an hour. That means Paul's home. The thought of talking to him- the thought of just him, for that matter- makes my stomach twist into a knot of regret. I suddenly feel the strong urge to just crawl back into bed and stay under the covers. But it won't work. Very reluctantly I get up and force myself downstairs.

"So, Gaelin, what's going on with you, sport? Anything exciting lately?" Paul asks as we all sit around in the dining room. I pause from pushing around the spaghetti on my plate, and hesitantly looking up at him. His dark brown eyes hold curiosity, but I can also detect a hopefulness in there- probably that we'll have a decent conversation for once that aren't awkward and short like they always are.

I shrug, looking down at my plate, "I-I was thinking of ordering some new dolls. You know, now that I finally have more space-"

Paul blows out a sigh, rolling his eyes, "Really, Gael', more of them? I mean, I know you like doing them, but I would've thought you'd be selling more of those things, finding a better way to-"

" _Paul_ ," Mom calls in her stern voice, "Gaelin's been doll collecting years, ever since he was a boy with his dad. It's nothing new. And he's never asked us for money or anything to expand it. If he still is interested in it, he's not hurting anybody.

"I think that's great, sweetie," she points her attention to me, patting my hand, "I know it was hard having to give some of them away. I know how much you love them."

I know she's trying to help, but it still angers me. I don't even know why I decided to bring it up in the first place. Of all the things we disagree about, my doll collecting is the biggest thing he's against- he was practically dancing when I decided to sell some to help him and Mom pay the medical bills. Then again, he's against basically all of my hobbies. Against all of me.

"I'm not trying to bring him down, Maxine, I'm just saying there are certain things kids do that as they grow older, they, well, grow out of. By this age, most kids have given away playthings or put them in storage."

"Plenty of kids his age still have action figures and collectible toys, I hardly can see why Gaelin is so different-"

I know what Paul is going to say (though he's going to try and say it in a way that make Mom downright slap him), but before he even gets the first word out, I push my uneaten plate away and mutter that I'm going to do homework and not that hungry. Mom calls out to me, but I trudge up the stairs, overhearing the two of them starting to argue ( _"Why do you always have to ridicule him over this?" "It's a childish thing, Maxine. I can understand Josephine, but Gaelin's almost eighteen" "You know how much this means to him, Paul, especially with all that's happened" "It's one thing with Star Wars or dinosaurs, but we're talking dolls- stuff little girls play with for Christ's sake!")_ I try to block it out. I've never been good at handling conflict- I get all nervous and uneasy inside- especially when it's my parents fighting. I slam the door to my room, sitting at my computer, staring at the screen.

I don't hate Paul- he's always been good to us. I just wish that he'd leave me alone and accept I'm not the athletic sports star stepson he'd expected me to be.

I wasn't lying about the order, though. It's been a while since I've done anything with my collection, and I recently made a new shelf in woodshop. I type in the url to the auction site I'm always visiting, browsing around to see what they have new in store, anything that catches my eye. Most of the new toy items offered up are all either too expensive or have been auctioned up five other times; I'm starting to get frustrated, thinking about just quitting and going to bed.

Until one description catches my eye.

I click on the photograph. It's a big black trunk, stated to come with eight puppets. What surprises me is the individual photographs of the toys- they're all so... _inhuman._ One is a cowboy with six arms, one has a knife and hook for hands. The only normal looking one is the sole woman in the bunch. I read the description:

 _Condition: New_

 _In perfect condition, eight surviving creations of famous freedom-fighter puppeteer Andre Toulon. All are personally hand-crafted, with clothes sewn up and re-painted to original state they were in their 1930s home in France. Who knows, maybe you might uncover the mystery of Toulon's supposed secret to playing God. Current price goes for $350._

Playing God? What the hell does that mean? I think for a minute, but fail to find anything that concerns the name Toulon. I stare at the pictures of the puppets. They certainly...don't look like regular puppets. I find it strange that there's no presence of strings or handles to move their limbs. But their macabre appearance does perk my interest. I have a few unique doll structures here and there, but certainly nothing on this level of creepy. There's just something that makes me forget about all the other considerations on the site.

Why not? I could always use a touch of the strange.

The price is a bit on the cheap side, anyway, considering if the statement's true, the puppets are well over eight years old.

After I finish typing out my debit card info, I suddenly realize the fatigue is coming back on, even though I slept pretty decently during my nap. It's been like that a lot as of late. I settle into bed, taking a moment to gaze across the dozens of eyes looking at me. I hear a sudden knock at the door.

"Sweetie, can I come in?" I hear Mom's voice.

A sudden icy feeling comes over me. I know what she's here for. I don't want to talk about what Paul says. I don't walk to talk at all. I just want to sleep. Sleep and forget life. I turn on my side, not saying anything, barely making a sound.

Mom's voice calls again, before she gives up and I hear her walking away.

I shut my eyes.

Please, just let me sleep.

Let me sleep and forget about all the pain for a moment.


	4. Lament

**Chapter III: Lament**

It's not like I want to be like this.

That's what nobody understands. I can't keep track of how many times I've been asked what's wrong, or to cheer up, or that "it's all part of grieving" or just to think positively. They try to tell me that as bad as it was, some people have it worse. Like that just makes it all go away. Do they think that I'm doing this on purpose? That I enjoy having no energy or motivation to want to anything but sleep, that I like feeling numb and having anxiety attacks and having what little happiness I come across eaten up by the big black void living in my stomach? The best one is when they wonder what happened. _You're so different then from when I remember you_ , they tell me, _You used to be so full of life, so much fun to hang around_. So much someone that wasn't a burden.

It's true, I wasn't always like this. Back then, I was someone worth talking to. You could ask anyone who knew me back in freshmen year and they'd probably all say the same thing: I was shy but open enough to start a conversation with. I wasn't the most social of creatures, but I did try out a few after-school clubs at Mom's request. There was teasing here and there when it was discovered where my skill for painting sculptures came from, but I had enough friends and support to at least defend me and keep it out of my mind.

That's the funny thing about depression. One day you can be walking on sunshine, and the next it rips everything away, pulling everything into its big black hole until nothing remains, wrapping you up in itself, digging into your veins until you barely remember who you used to be. And all the while it manages to happen so discreetly that by the time your realize something's wrong, you're already in too deep.

At the beginning, everyone was so supporting, so understanding. They claimed they understood that it was all part of mourning and that I just got the rug ripped out from under me. They tried to be there when I stopped sleeping properly, when I couldn't focus in class or couldn't get excited over things like I used to. But then ten months went by and things stayed the same. They stopped understanding. Stopped seeing how after 'so much' time I was still having the rain cloud over my head, how I still had panic attacks when it came to driving or why it seemed like I just stopped trying to do anything. People stopped being there, becoming unable to handle all the emotional baggage I suddenly became bombarded with, eventually drifting off and meeting new friends, filling the little space where my existence was with a new, happier, not traumatized persona. It's not entirely their fault though. I developed a knack for pushing people away.

Mom tried helping, offering to pay for a therapist or medication. I refused outright; no way am I going to some quack I've never met to air out my dirty laundry just so they can get their daily check. I tried Zoloft for three months and all that crap did was make my anxiety worse.

They don't understand, they couldn't. They didn't see what Dad was like after the car flipped, they don't know what it's like having to watch someone die slowly and painfully right before your eyes while you feel completely helpless because you can't even move. They have no idea.

* * *

The blaring of my alarm clock rips me from dreamland, and I squint around the room. I actually got a rare full night of sleep, and yet I still manage to feel unrested. My eyes feel all puffy, my arms and legs like lead, and all I want to do go back under the covers; I know if I do, though, then that will really raise some red flags to Mom, so I force myself out of bed.

I take my shirt off and wince when my eyes land on my chest. A giant scattered mess of scars stretches everywhere, angry red keloids extending from my collarbones to under my nipples, wrapping around my sides and reaching below my navel. The biggest reminder of what happened that night. I look away and pull a new t-shirt over my chest. I don't shower- that makes it three days. I'm aware that it's incredibly disgusting and unhealthy, but there's only so much energy I can use up in the morning before I'm utterly defeated by midday. It takes a lot just to change my clothes and not go in yesterday's outfit. I try to comb out as many tangles from my hair to make it at least look presentable and spray on a copious amount of perfume to hide the smell.

I look at my reflection. I look like a wreck. My blonde hair is what you would consider short, but still long enough to get all tousled and bed-head looking, though I tried my best to comb out some of the tangles; my skin's super pale from lack of going out in the sun for months, emphasizing the dark circles and bags under my eyes. I'm a decent height, but I lost a lot of weight and now I look super lanky (which has made some like Kristen Seretta lovingly refer to me as Slenderboy). My eyes themselves are really the only thing that don't look like they belong to a junkie, but their pale greenish-grey color make them look inhuman to some people, or so I've been told.

A flicker of something above the top shelf on my bed catches my attention, and I turn around, gazing at the dozens of eyes staring at me, their emotionless expressions never moving. That may sound creepy to some people, but to me, it helps me relax a little.

My doll collection.

The biggest memento I have of my dad.

It all started back to him. He used to tell it all started when he was growing up Boston, his parents couldn't afford to buy him toys like all his friends, so he made his own. He always said he became fascinated with the joy that he felt when playing with toys, and came to love the aura of innocence that they seem to bring with them. He started out collecting classic things like teddy bears and toy boats, but as he got older his love shifted to dolls; he loved the potential of creativity that came with designing dolls, how only by putting in hard work and love did someone truly get the beautiful results they wanted; most of all, he loved the life-likeness they could provide. He had it since I was born, and soon enough got me interested enough to help him expand it.

When he died, I took it upon myself to keep all of them from falling apart. I made sure the dolls were kept clean, tidy, that any cracks or breaks were fixed. Paul didn't why we didn't just pawn them off ( _"Some of these could easily be worth a hundred, three hundred dollars"_ ) or put them in storage. Even Mom offered to put them away, since she was worried they'd be too much of a reminder. But I couldn't.

It sounds weird, but the thought of doing that makes me feel...like I'm betraying them. It's ridiculous- they're not real, of course- but these dolls have been the only thing that let me feel some relief and safety after all that's happened. After all, would you just give a child to their grandparents, or a pet to a shelter when something bad happened? Of course you wouldn't.

I almost had a breakdown at the thought of selling them. The only time I ever agreed was when I found out our medical insurance didn't cover the entirety of the bills and we were left in debt, and even then I felt like I had just spit on Dad's grave. For two weeks after that, I locked myself in my room and refused to come out.

I block the thoughts of that out and walk over the ones gathered on my shelves, feeling the anxiety ease out of me. I just...deflate when I look over my dolls. The way their eyes are lifeless, yet hold so much emotion. My collection's huge, well into the thousands. I don't really have any preference, so there's a large diversity in my room. I have old vintage Barbies and tiny Madame Alexanders, ball-jointed dolls imported from Japan and Monster High dolls from Wal-Mart, Pop Vinyls, old porcelain dolls in Victorian clothing, and hand-painted bisque dolls. Everything and anything in between.

Some of them I've even made myself. My desk is cluttered with fabric sheets, rolls of ribbon and containers of false hair, boxes of glass eyes and pots of acrylic paints. I don't want to say I'm an expert- I haven't had much motivation to do any more originals for a few months- but the outcomes are pretty nice, like my beloved lolita doll, Goselyn, who sits on my nightstand, or the clown doll Mr. Jingles that I made Josie for her birthday last year (she chose the name, not me). Maybe I should look in my sketchbook for any designs.

I make a note to dust and clean their outfits later on. I run my hand along the blank shelf that awaits the puppets. They're certainly be unique among the others. Sure, some of the dolls are old enough to be horror stories within themselves, and I do love the macabre appeal, but I've never really to find enough attraction to buy things like Living Dead dolls or the like.

Thinking about the puppets makes me think of that name again. _Toulon_. Playing God. What does that mean? Part of me thinks that it's all just talk to try and get people to buy the product. I don't know. I'll guess we'll have to wait until they get here to make any judgements.

"Gaelin," I hear Mom's name call, "You're going to be late."

I sigh. On my way out, as I sling my back over my shoulder, I look over at the dolls again, seeing how their eyes glitter in the sunlight, the way they seem to be staring at me.

"Bye, you guys," I say to nobody as I close the door.

Part of me likes to think, even if it's childish, that they're silently telling me bye right back.

* * *

 _Note: Just a quick announcement, everyone. I currently have a poll on my profile, as I'm thinking about changing my pen name (I created this all the way back in seventh grade and I feel its well worn its title). So if you all could please vote on whether or not I should, I would greatly appreciate it!_

 _Also, I'm sad to say that after this week, school will be resuming for me, so updates may not be as regular as they have been so far, just to give you guys a heads up if they do become less frequent. But don't worry, next chapter we'll be seeing some very familiar faces ;)_


	5. Welcome to the Family

**Chapter IV: Welcome To the Family**

* * *

 _46%. F. See me._

The grade stares back at me like a deer in headlights, the bright red lettering almost hurting my eyes with its vibrancy; there are so many marks and corrections that it's almost obnoxious, like half of them are just for decoration. I can feel Mrs. Dwight's cold gaze sending me vibes, like she's trying to get me to her desk telepathically. Everyone's already gathering their things and moving- which makes it even harder, considering now I'm right in her line of sight from her desk.

I keep my head down as I stuff everything in my bag, crumbling the test down under textbooks and pencils. I dart out of my desk and to the door, pretending not to hear Mrs. Dwight calling my name as I let myself get stuck in the sea of students that comes with class letting out. I feel like a robot with the way I'm barely paying anyone any mind, just focused on getting to my locker and getting what I need before getting home without any trouble.

Of course, that doesn't happen.

I try to keep my eyes glued to the row of lockers across the hall from me, hoping that this will kill any possibility of someone trying to come up to me and make conversation. As I get closer, however, I take notice of several dark patches that are stick out against the chipping red paint of the metal. I suddenly also become aware of the small group that's gathered around mine, all of them snickering and pointing. The closer I get, the more it becomes obvious that the patches are shapes.

When I'm only a few feet away, everyone takes notice to part like the Red Sea and stare, awaiting my reaction like tourists at the lion's den at the zoo. I stop in front, staring up at the mess of black sharpie that's desecrated my locker, the shapes now a vulgar portrait of several obnoxiously large phalluses ejaculating onto a crude stick figure, my name scribbled across the latter and a word bubble declaring _Ooooh yeah I love it!_ There are also several words like 'FAG' 'FREAK' 'STUPID' and other lovely words painted wherever there's room.

It goes without any saying that this is obviously the work of Kailani and her friends.

People are still staring, giggling every now and then and anticipating what I'll do next. I hear a fat chuckle, and I scan the halls until they land on, of course, her. Holden Loftis, Kailani's boyfriend- and depending on the situation, either her number one ass kisser or worst enemy- is looking away, his crooked nose bright red as he laughs.

Everyone's still looking at me, anticipating what I'll do. I know what they're thinking. Will I scream? Will I march up to them and start throwing fists? Will I laugh it off and exchange coarse words?

Except I don't do anything. I turn back to looking at my locker, ignoring all the eager faces as I march forward and reach up for the lock. There's absolute silence as I turn the dials, save for the small clicks and taps as I slide it through the handles. I grab the handle and push it off, flinging open the door and gathering my books and other items.

"Wow, Gaelin, no reaction after the hard work we put in to make your locker more homely? I'm hurt," Kailani's voice feels like nails on a chalkboard.

Apparently, the joke is hilarious, because all of a sudden everyone in the hall is bursting out laughing. Holden's nasally croak follows up, "Yeah, we even put all your favorite weekend things!"

I grit my teeth, feeling my ears turning red, and I get I a little more forceful trying to make my stuff fit. I slam my locker shut. Don't look at them, don't look at them, dontlookatthemdontlookatthemdontlookathem-

I turn, keeping my eyes down as I try to rush out of the hall. I make it three feet before I feel my legs bump against someone's leg and I crash to the ground, falling flat on my face.

A buzz of pain rockets through my body when my kneecaps hit the tile. Everyone's roaring with laughter now. I look up. Holden's best friend, Tony Plonsky is holding his knee out, his crooked yellow teeth sticking out against his patchy goatee. Kailani and Holden are looking over his shoulders down at me, Kailani's mouth is turned up in a satisfied grin.

"Oops, did I leave that there?" Tony asks, like it's the funniest thing on earth. He knudges me with his toe, but I dart away from him. God, he's such a dick. I hear people starting to chant, mouths open and eyes scrunched up.

"What a fucking loser!"

"Oh, I think he's gonna cry!"

I hate them all so much. I want to just throw something at them, then we'll see who's laughing.

"What's going on here?" A heavy voice asks. All laughter suddenly dies down as the vice principal, Mr. Rog, comes into view. Now everyone's staring at him like he's the Grim Reaper. He looks around, spotting me on the floor. His eyes narrow in questioning and he starts to make his way to me. He shoots a death glare at Tony, Kailani, and Holden. The three of them look away, Tony shoving his hands in his pocket.

Mr. Rog catches his leg still partially stuck out behind me, though. "Well, Mr. Plonsky?"

"I-it's nothing sir."

"It doesn't look like 'nothing'" Mr. Rog starts walking up to me- oh, God, please no. He starts kneeling down, holding out his hand.

"Mr. Killough-"

I don't want this to be happening. I don't want to be here. Before I even let him finish, I jump to my feet- ignoring the giant aches in my knees from doing so- and run down the hall.

"Mr. Killough!" I hear Mr. Rog call, "Mr. Killough, come back here this instant!"

I don't listen. Just keep running, Gaelin, you're almost there.

Just keep running and this can all be over.

* * *

By the time I get home, I'm out of breath. I feel disgusting with all this sweat gathering under my clothes and in my hair, and the cold makes it worse, and I'm shivering. My joints scream out in pain and my knees feel like someone's hit them with a sledgehammer. I try to warm my fingers with my breath. I trudge up the steps.

I just want to crawl under the covers and go back to bed. Go forget all my problems.

Paul's at the kitchen island, looking over some bills. He looks up, his reading glasses perched on his nose. "Hey, how was school?"

I look off the side, shrugging. I don't want to talk about it. I know this isn't the proper thing to do though, by the way Paul blows an exasperated sounding sigh through his nose. He doesn't push, though, so I'm grateful for that. I start to make my way towards the stairs before he mentions, "Package came for you."

Oh, right. The puppets.

At first I'm surprised- since the order says it'd be at least another month to deliver- but suddenly, an unusual giddy feeling starts brewing in my stomach, an electricity gathering up that makes my heart starts beating faster, but in a good way this time. Paul points to a large brown cardboard box sitting near the doorway. It's gigantic- it comes to the middle of my chest- but I'm feeling so excited and anxious that I barely even mind the strain it takes to lift the whole damn thing. I run up the stairs as fast (and awkwardly) as I can, almost tripping over my own sneakers as I burst into my room and slam the door shut.

They're here. They're finally _here_.

I can finally use the shelf. I finally can start working on the dolls again.

It's not that often that I feel anything besides crappy anymore, and even fewer in between that those feelings are actually anything positive. But it feels great with the anticipation in my blood.

I put the box on the side where it's taped and grab my letter opening. I kneel and tear it down the side, opening up the flaps to find the large black trunk from the picture. It smells heavy- like some kind of old wood- and the paint is obviously chipping. For some reason it feels even heavier than it did in the box, and by the time I manage to lift the monstrosity out of the cardboard, I'm gasping for air and sweating.

I kneel down, feeling my hands shake as they hover over the clasps, feeling the worn leather that's barely even there. I take a deep breath and open the trunk, having to hold onto the heavy door opening with both hands.

They're...

…... _wonderful._

All eight of them here, in the flesh- or wood, whatever.

The picture doesn't hold any kind of ground compared to the real thing.

I'm hesitant to even touch them out of fear that the slightest wrong move will damage them. I carefully lift them out of the box one by one, being extra careful not to be too rough or move them in the wrong position. They are almost ninety years old, of course. I set them all onto the carpet, carefully analyzing each of their features, feeling the little grooves and stitches. They're all about about eighteen inches tall, each of them retaining a certain feature that makes them unique among the group.

I pick up the one nearest to me, examining him up front. His face is slender with a long Glasglow smile that appears to be able to open. His face is all white, except for the two large empty eye sockets that appear to have little holes drilled into the center, giving off a bit of skeletal, phantom-like vibe. His hair is all white, too, cut to his chin. I finger a bit of the strands. It feels rather thin and fluffs up easily, so I don't think it's human hair. Definitely can't be mohair or nylon or, God forbid, acetate. It's probably karakul, possibly even wool. His attire is rather simple of a black trenchcoat, pants, and a small fedora on his head. Maybe he was modeled after a detective.

Though it doesn't explain the fact that in place of hands, his arms extend into a gleaming silver knife and thick hook. A fact I don't realize until I prick my finger on his right.

"Shit," I mumble at the sting, placing it in my mouth to stifle the bleeding. I thought it was a fake, or just bad imagery. But no, it's real- and oddly finely sharpened. I turn the puppet back around, staring at his hollow face.

"You know, buddy, you keep that up and you won't get many fans at playtime," I joke as I set him down.

The next puppet looks all misshapen. A little comical, like the typical angry Russian you'd see working in the downtown deli. His tiny head looks like he has a swollen eye, largely overshadowed by his huge human-sized hands, clasped in fingerless gloves. He looks like he's supposed to be a wrestler, but instead he's dressed in a plane red sweater and slacks, his giant body looking like it couldn't possibly be supported by his tiny legs.

The third one is one of the only two most-human looking of the group. A classic jester, he comes complete with the sparkly gold boots and a hat with bells on top. The one anomaly is that his face seems to be divided into three sections, separating his scalp, eyes and upper jaw, and chin. His cheekbones are sculpted to be very exaggerated, his arched eyebrows and painted lips giving off an air of mischief. Not sure if the pointed ears are meant to be there or just the result of difficulty in sculpting.

The fourth puppet would make me chuckle with the sole fact that he looks like something right out of Coneheads, if not for the fact that the drill on his head looks to be solid industrial steel, albeit a little knicked and chipped in places. His solid black eyes and big lips make him look- pardon my rudeness- rather like some kind of toad. It seems like he's supposed to be some sort of political message, what with the drill and the fact that his clothes seem to be modeled after a German army uniform from the second world war. The multiple lines etched into his head make him look a bit middle aged.

The lone female model of the group looks more doll-like than puppet- whereas all the guys feel like they have clothed limbs stuffed with cotton (with the exception of Mr. Knifehand, of course) her body is fully sculpted and modeled, her limbs moving and flexible at the joint areas, though unlike the posable Wal-Mart toys she's flat-footed. Her eyes are painted black as well, but this time rimmed with pink and flanked with blue eyeshadow, red lipstick painting her smile. Her straight black hair falls to her tiny waist, newly combed. Her pink lounge dress is rather off considering everyone else's vintage attire- it makes me think the previous owner just threw something off a random Barbie on her- adorned with ruffles at the hem and a decoration of old rhinestones at her waistline. Quite a beauty, this one is.

I raise my eyebrow at the sixth puppet, which is sculpted to be an obvious cowboy; if you ignore the two extra pairs of arms, that is. All six hands are painted black to resemble gloves. This guy embodies every Wild West stereotype, complete with a five o'clock shadow on his cleft chin, a missing tooth, and a painted on mustache. He even comes with six metal guns in three holsters that line his abdomen.

What the hell was this guy on?

In contrast, the last two puppets are very robotic in appearance, though they do manage to keep the 1930s theme. One looks like some sort of war-themed android, a skull modeled like a pickelhaube, a row of bullets (PLEASE god, let those not be real) standing in for teeth, red eyes menacing. He's also missing a hand, a cylinder shape with a rectangular hole limping off his right hand.

The last puppet is rather simple, compared to the rest of them. His pure metal head feels heavy in my palm, the only features being eye sockets and a nose. A heavy contrast to his simple turtleneck and leather jacket. It looks like it's supposed to unscrew. I also notice a small hole on the side of his neck.

In fact, they all have one. Though the latter's different with his being hollow on the side, all the puppets have a strange circular piece of metal sticking out on the backs of their necks, only big enough to poke something like a sewing needle through.

Seriously, what was this dude thinking? I really hope these weren't actually used in puppet shows. All those poor kids were probably in for the shock of their lives when they saw some kind of mutant Toy Story being presented to them.

But I don't really care about that. What I care about is the fact that they're _here_ , and they're _mine_.

I sit cross-legged, gazing down at the puppets. Occasionally I run my hands down their clothes, gently feel the small nooks and crannies on their tiny features. It's clear that even with their strange appearances, a lot of love went into the creations. Their limbs feel so strong, and yet to so delicate in my hands.

That's when I notice something else is in the trunk. A small box. I pick it up and look at it. It's rather heavy, and feels like there's something inside. It's locked with two small clasps like the trunk. Inside there's two strange objects. One is a giant metal syringe, its needle looking like the ones they use for rabies patients in their stomachs. The second one is a small glass bottle with a strange green fluid inside.

I hold it up to the light. It's a bit opaque, like it's been in here for a while. The bottle's sealed shut with a small cork. Some kind of secret cleaning fluid, maybe? Turning it upside down, it looks like the fluid's started coagulating. I twist the cork off and take a whiff.

God, it smells _awful_. Like it's as old as the puppets are.

Definitely not touching that.

I go to put the box back in the trunk. That's when I see the diary.

It's small- like some little planner or checkbook- the brown leather heavily cracked and softened from age. The corners are bent inward. There's no title or name on it. I open it to the first entry. The pages are fragile, yellowed from the times and some stains, the chicken scratch writing heavily faded.

The first entry is barely legible:

 _Le 16 Avril 1937_

 _Il y a six mois que nous avons réglé à Berlin. Il semble que les marionnettes commencent de s'installer dans notre nouvel environnement, mais je sais qu'il doit être difficile pour eux de rester comme inactif possible à chaque fois qu'il est quelqu'un d'autre que Elsa et moi autour. Ils sont bons, bien que, et marionnettes même voir avoir pris un goût pour les enfants pendant les représentations. Semble très stupide que quelqu'un avec une telle capacité de présenter la vie serait l'utiliser pour des spectacles pour enfants, mais je sais qu'il est mal dans ce monde. Dieu sait quel genre de mal serait venue sur nous si l'élixir devaient tomber en de mauvaises mains. Et avec le chancelier Adolf Hitler au pouvoir de plus en plus forte chaque jour, je sais Afzel feraient confiance à mon jugement..._

The only thing I can make out is the date. Other than that, it's pretty much pig-latin from there. It looks like French.

This must be from the apparently infamous Andre Toulon, judging from the year. But that doesn't explain the fluid. Or the weird needle. I stare at the first entry for a few more minutes, but aside from a couple of names, I can't translate it. Probably should've taken up Ms. Rog on her offer for a language course sophomore year.

"Whatever your secrets are, Toulon," I say to nobody, "You can trust them and your kids are safe with me."

* * *

 _Disclaimer: The following entry was translated using Free Translation, so it's most likely not completely accurate._


	6. Lost in Translation

**Chapter V: Lost in Translation**

I flip through the diary for a straight hour, trying to catch any hints as to what the content may reveal, but come up empty, save for a few creepy sketches and diagrams of that weird needle. The last entry in the journal is dated in 1939, a picture of what seems to be a crawlspace sloppily scrawled at the bottom.

A few words do catch my name. Some of them are capitalized. _Pinhead, Jester, Tunneler, Six Shooter_. I look over at the puppets, now positioned on the shelf- they stand on their own pretty well for having such big heads-names perhaps? They definitely seem fitting for their quirky features. I flip to a page that has a rough sketch of the needle. Now there's a definite brow raiser. Is it supposed to be some radical dolly hospital toy? Something that somehow helps repair damaged joints? An oiling tool to get to all those little crannies that a screwdriver can't? Some weird way of adding detail?

I try an online translator, but after a whole forty-five minutes of typing word by word and only coming up with wonky bits of sentences, I give up. I look at my clock. A quarter past eleven. I still have history homework to do, my book report only a quarter of the way done and the due date three days away. So much work to get done, so little done. The stress from just thinking about it all is enough to get my heart racing. And yet, my energy is depleted. I feel exhausted already, and I haven't even done much. The black void sucks out all my urge, leaving nothing but emptiness. An ongoing cycle.

The journal will just have to wait, I tell myself as I flop down in bed, pulling the sheets all the way up to my chin.

But there's an urging in my bones, something that makes me not want to sleep and just keep trying to decode the diary.

Whatever it is, it keeps me up well past midnight.

* * *

Over the next few days, I check out a English-to-French dictionary from the library and spend whatever free time I have writing down the entries I'm able to convert. So far, there's nothing really too amazing. All I've really gotten is that Toulon was living in Germany during Hitler's reign and was very defiant of the Nazis. That, and his wife Elsa helped him in his puppet shows.

That's one thing that definitely sticks out; the mention of the puppets. Understandably, it was his job, but there's something about the way he mentions them. Like they're kids or something. Here and there, they'll be mentioned with action words attached, like _The puppets seem to be getting restless_ or _Jester and Pinhead certainly seem to have taken a liking to the children_. Phrases that if you didn't know any better, you'd think he was talking about his pets or grandchildren. Maybe he had a whole Michelangelo thing going on, I don't know.

I've also noticed that, at the beginning at least, the journal entries jump and vary in dates. The second entry was written all the way in November, then in February, then March. One entry isn't written until a n entire year passes. The entry I'm currently on reads it was written on March 4, 1940:

 _It has been a rough year. Chancellor Hitler is growing even more mad with power each day, and it seems every night I unknowingly say goodbye to more and more friends as the SS whisks them away like owls to mice in the night. They are trying to scare us into obeying, like beaten hounds. Just last week, the florist was arrested when they discovered she was hiding a Jewish couple in her basement. They are relentless animals, the Nazi party. We have certainly fallen on hard times; she tries to be strong, but I can tell the fear is getting to Elsa. But we have endured far worse, and we shall again. Mocking Hitler means certain death if we are caught, but I will not back down; if just one voice can speak up, then that can ignite hope in the hearts of dozens-_

"Hey, what're you doing?"

Kailani. Just great.

I look up. She's bent over me, ever so rudely peering over my shoulder. She's wearing a cheap plastic pendant that almost hits me in the face, the creepy eye staring right at me.

I don't want to tell her, but I'm never rude to Kailani. Spineless little Gaelin is polite as always. Before I even have the chance though, she reaches under me and pulls the diary right out from under. I whip around in my seat, "Be careful with that-!" I try saying.

"What the hell is this? It's all in, like, Swedish or something," Kailani comments as she skims through the diary, her brows furrowed in confusion. I can see the old leather cracking under the fingers, like it might break at any second. I get up, daring to be a little bold and yanking the diary back from her. Kailani glares at me like I have something on my face, and I fold and look away, cradling the diary to my chest.

"I'm translating," I mumble.

"What?"

I don't know why I give in to Kailani when all I want to do is hit her, but I give in and explain to her the whole thing, even with the puppets and what the case came with. When I finish, I know she's standing there with her hands on her hips, a smirk on her face. "What?" I ask.

"You're such a freak, Palelin," she states, crossing her arms, "It's no wonder why nobody likes you."

Of course.

I don't say anything, just gathering up my things and going to leave. I try to walk past her, only to fall forward and lose grip of my stuff when she shoves me; I almost hit my head on the corner of a chair. I quickly gather everything back up out of fear of her stealing something. I reach for my pencil, and almost get my hand stepped on when her boot slams to the ground. I jump and glare at her. Kailani only raises an eyebrow, daring me to even try something, before she 'hmphs' and walks off. I follow her to the opening of the library, where I see Holden is standing. He puts her arm around her waist and I see her say a few words to him, before they both look in my direction, Holden making an L-shape on his forehead.

I grit my teeth and look away, storming to the other exit.

Some days I go over the edge and have really dark thoughts of Kailani. Sometimes I think of hitting her until she bleeds, or screaming at her, or just reaching up and yanking all that frizzy hair right out of her head. Sometimes I want to bash her head into her locker, smash her face in the glass. I get really eerie thoughts of what it would feel like to push her down the stairs, or over the railing on the second level. We'd see who'd be laughing when you can't play volleyball with a compound fracture, bitch.

These, of course, are horrible things to wish upon anybody and I try to push them down when I come to my senses. But there are times when I can't help myself and they get out. When I actually ponder how it would feel to hurt someone, to make them feel as much pain as I felt.

It scares me.

* * *

That night, after I finally get my homework done, I take to cleaning the doll's shelves and doing some touch ups. I take to brushing their hair and cleaning up any nooks that may have gotten dusty. I take time taking all them off the shelves, positioning them on one side, cleaning one and setting it off the other side, before turning to the next doll, cleaning the shelf, and then setting them back on in either the position they were already in or a new one, depending on how I think it looks. It's a long process but it's something I'm willing to do. For Dad.

I start on the shelf that's closest to the door and work clockwise around the room, stopping at the tinier shelves below the larger ones and at my nightstand to work on Goselyn (poor girl hasn't been getting much attention lately). The puppets are about half way around, on the wall opposite the door, right under my desk. Considering they're still new, there really isn't much a reason to clean them, but I decide to go ahead and give them a quick wipe down, being mindful to be extra gentle as to prevent wiping away the paint jobs. I start ponder what I came across as I take the girl puppet and brush her hair, the brush gliding effortlessly through the strands.

Flipping through the diary again, certain words still stick out. I'm pretty sure they're names.

Blade, Jester, Pinhead, Six Shooter, _Mademoiselle Leech_ (or _'Femme Leech_ ', something to do with those nasty things), Tunneler. They're pretty self-explanatory. The puppets with the metal teeth and the round head I still haven't figured out. I did come across one- something to do with Khan- but something tells me that it doesn't quite fit. It's especially difficult when some of the pages are so weathered the writing is completely worn away. I look over all the puppets. All those little details that make them unique amongst each other, all those secrets uncovered. What was Toulon's goal in making them?

I think back to the illustration of that weird needle, the latter which remains in the trunk with that jar of weird green gunk. Something about it makes me look over to the diary, which remains open on my desk with more translated pages, me having given up for the day after trying to figure out which words were used as nouns or adjectives got to me. I put the girl- Leech Woman- gently on the ground and walk over, picking it up. I flip to the page that has the sketch on it, the needle looking as sharp and dangerous in the rough black ink as it does up close. I look over the words, the hours of using the dictionary making some more familiar than others.

 _Running out of formula...very crucial...only a matter of time before...a gruesome way to keep them alive...to fall into the wrong hands...madmen..._

I furrow my brows, failing to connect the dots. I look over to the trunk. A strange urge pulls me to get up and open it. I take out the needle, the fine point looking delicate and dangerous. I push down on the syringe, the barrel feeling heavy and cold, the dark metal slightly scuffed. I still haven't figured out its purpose yet, or the reason for why the jar is here.

But something tells me I'm closer to finding out.

It's only a matter of time.


	7. Unspoken Actions

**Chapter VI: Unspoken Actions**

"Gaelin...Gaelin, get up already!"

A tight grip on my shoulder and hard shaking brings me out of slumber and I open my eyes, only to shut them again against the brightness of the dawn sunlight that's blasting through the window. I try to crawl back under the covers, only for the hand to shake me more.

"Come on, sport, you got to get up."

I look over my shoulder to see it's Paul; he's standing over with his briefcase and suit jacket in hand, his thinning hair neatly combed, the scent of hazelnut shower gel and his cologne a bit overwhelming. The clock reads that it's 6:30; I shouldn't have to be up for another hour. "Wha..." I try to ask, still a bit disoriented.

Paul explains, "You gotta hurry son, you said you'd take Josie over to Mr. Frost's, remember?"

Oh yeah. Mom has an early showing and Paul has a meeting this morning; since I still haven't driven since last year and the elementary school is about forty-five minutes away and doesn't start until two hours after mine does, and obviously Josie is nowhere near old enough to be left by herself, I volunteered- slash Mom and Paul kind of demanded- to take her over to the babysitter's.

"Okay, okay, I'm up," I shrug Paul's shoulder off of me and stretch my arms above my head, trying to find what little energy may be sitting in my body to get off my ass and get ready. I stumble to the bathroom and shower for the first time in days, spending a good ten minutes trying to finger pry all the knots out of my hair. I throw on a button down and my least wrinkled pair of jeans, trying to put on as good of a presentation as I can even though considering it's Mr. Frost, it won't do any good.

Josie, on the other hand, is absolutely ecstatic. Her strawberry blonde curls are perfectly in place in all her barrettes, her blue eyes matching her blouse and Mary Janes. Her Hello Kitty backpack is adorned with dozens of little charms hanging off the zippers- complete with the matching lunchbox- and she has her favorite coloring book tucked under her arm, looking like a vintage picture of a school child. It's quite adorable, honestly, and probably one of the only things that brightens my mood, especially when she sees me and smiles that precious grin of hers, complete with her little dimples and missing front teeth.

"Gaelly, I get to play with Mr. Frost today!" she exclaims. I give her an honest smile and ruffle her hair.

"I know, Josie-cat, and I get to take you there!"

Her eyes sparkle like I just told her we have a lifetime access to Disney World. She's so cute. I hear Mom's heels clacking as she comes down the stairs, her phone between her shoulder and ear as she tries to get her stuff together whilst putting on her earrings.

"Well tell the Robinsons if there was anything wrong with the ceiling fan, they should've put filed a complaint when they first noticed it, not wait until inspection to bring up something wrong."

She sees me, and smiles, mouthing _Thank you_ as someone responds on the other line. I put my jacket on, grabbing my bag and Josie's hand and escorting the two of us out the door. The cold morning air is like a giant blanket with the way it breezes right through me, chilling me the bone; within seconds I can already feel my cheeks and nose start to go numb. I try curling my toes in my boots to keep the blood going. Soon, the chipped old paint and slouching fence of Mr. Frost's house comes into view, the dirtied old American flag swaying in the breeze. We step up the creaking front steps- mine sounding like the footfalls of a giant while Josie has to rush to keep up with me, and stand in front of the rusted front door. I knock three times- Mr. Frost doesn't like the sound of the doorbell- only for five minutes to go by without any indication of an answer.

I knock again. Still silent.

I knock a third time-

"I hear ya, I hear ya! Hold your damn horses!"

Yep, that's Mr. Frost.

The door swings open to reveal his hunched-over form, his thinning white hair combed over in an attempt to keep it presentable. I can see the varicose veins on his liver spotted hands as they grasp his cane, one of them on his back. He looks up at me, a wrinkled scowl on his face as he stares at me down his hooked nose, his oval-shaped glasses low on his nostrils.

"Do you have any idea what time it is? You tryin' to blow my ears out or something?" He snaps at me, his rotting yellow teeth looking like fangs the way hey jut out, especially with the spaces between some of them.

I have to keep from rolling my eyes. How Mom ever considered Mr. Frost is beyond me. He's old, bitter, and a cranky old bastard to date. He never has anything nice to say and always treats me like shit. Sometimes I just want to pop him one.

He's good to Josie, though, so I just blow a breath out through my nose and explain, "Sorry, Mr. Frost. I didn't think you heard the first time."

"Well, of course I did, you lame brain, or otherwise I wouldn't have said anything!" Yep, I'm his favorite student, can't you tell?

"Mr. Frost, don't be mean to Gailey," Josie scolds as she trudges over and gently yanks at his sweater, "Can we please come in? I'm cold."

Mr. Frost takes his eyes off of me. He harumphs and takes her small hand, turning around and guiding her inside. "Whatever. I guess I could make you some hot chocolate, if you want."

I hold up my hands even though he doesn't see, "Oh n-no, that's fine. I need to get some schoolwork done, anyway."

Mr. Frost looks over his shoulder, a hardened glare set, before he just shrugs his shoulder. Josie lets go of his hand for a second to skip over. I kneel down and catch her in a tight hug, inhaling her sweet scent of bubblegum shampoo, feeling her tiny hands grace my back. I run a hand through her hair.

"Be good now, Josie. I'll see you later, okay?" I say.

"Okay, Gailey," she says as she pulls away, so I can look into those sweet blue eyes, "I'm extra good, will you play with me later?"

I give her a smile, looking down at our hands. Her tiny pudgy ones a deep contrast to my long and too skinny ones. "Okay, it's a deal."

Josie smiles before she gives me a kiss on the cheek, hopping back inside with Mr. Frost. I get up, watching him close the door, standing on the deck for a few minutes. The warm joy I feel with seeing my little sister slowly burns away into a familiar hole of sadness that gnaws deep at something inside. I feel a frown tug at my mouth. A part of me wishes that I didn't have to leave Josie, that I could just run into the house and take her in my arms and just spend every moment with her, just to feel that joy she brings me every once in a blue moon.

But that's selfish. Josie's a good girl, she deserves way better than the mess of an older brother I am.

So I take a deep breath, turn away, and trudge down the stairs to face the world, as I always do.

* * *

Third period for me is World Discussions, and probably the slowest class of the day. You know that phrase about how forgetting history makes you repeat it? Well, that's basically what it is in a nutshell- we take some sort of current event and apply historical events to it and see any possible connection. Yawn city, I know.

I sit in the back of the class, looking over the newest notes of translation. It seems around this time, Toulon managed to land himself in hot water for apparently mocking the Nazis in his puppet shows:

 _June 3, 1941_

 _Elsa's getting more and more concerned by the minute. She tells me she believed that the man in the front row of the puppet show today could have been a member of the SS, the look on his face was so unnerving. I wish I could say she is just letting the fear get to her, but I must admit that I too am having the most terrible feelings we are being watched. Just tonight, as we were feeding the puppets, I heard a large crash, certainly no way it was just a mere alley cat._

 _My poor Elsa. She is strong and generous, and so much more than I deserve. It seems like it was just yesterday she was that young girl in Paris who came to my presentation of the Divine Comedy, though that feisty young spirit certainly hasn't left her after all these years. I couldn't have done this without her, of course. If not for her, we would not have the lives of our precious puppets, nor would I have the love that I once thought had forsaken me..._

By now, it's obvious this Elsa lady is his wife. It's actually a pretty interesting read, the way Toulon talks about her. Like you can tell just by the prose this was a guy who was very much in love. It...reminds me a bit of the way Dad used to talk about Mom, when he'd tell me stories of how they met, the night I was born, the way he'd describe her when she was pregnant with Josie.

Thinking about that only serves to further stab me in the chest, though.

I'm knocked out of my thoughts when a shrill voice like metal on metal exclaims loudly in my ear, "Hey Gaelin, can I _aaaask_ you something?"

My shoulders hitch up in defense. I blow a breath out, already expecting the worst. Sure enough, when I turn around, there's the chameleon blonde hair and grey eyes of Sadie Lancaster, Kailani's best friend. She's looking down at me with her hands folded behind her back, a sickeningly sweet smile on her face. To everyone else, she's probably just looking polite. But I know the deception behind those pearly whites, I've seen it enough I could smell it from a mile away.

"What?"

Sadie giggles and leans over, her hair falling in her eyes as she comes entirely too close to my liking. "I just wanted to ask a question," she comments, exaggerating the suffix in 'question' in that really annoying way that people do for no reason.

"Um, what?" I repeat, very uncomfortable with how close she is, trying to not look her in the eye.

Sadie smirks, and I can see the mask instantly come off with the way those stormy eyes darken over. She puts her hands on both corners of the desk. "Is it true that you know how to sew?"

Oh god, please not today. I can feel the heat start creeping on my face, suddenly feeling small. "Um, y-y-yeah. W-why do you a-a-ask?"

"Well, I was just wondering," she continues, leaning way over the desk, "I have this really cute dress I want to wear to a date I'm going on in a few days. But I feel it's a little...tacky? There's so much fabric on the chest area, I would hardly be able to breathe. I was wondering if there's any chance you could cut some of it away-"

I realize by this point her breasts are right in my face. My face feels super hot, and I nervously look up. Sadie's giving me this look with her eyes half-lidded, licking her lips in a slow way. My heart's racing, but I don't know what do. I can feel myself start to sweat. I _really_ don't want to be here right now.

"-give my girls a little room to breathe, you know? If you could do that, I'd be eternally grateful," Sadie leans over so far it looks a little uncomfortable, purposefully letting me get a full view of her cleavage. My hand starts to hurt from the way it grips my pen.

"I might even give you a little...reward in return, if you catch my drift."

"Uh, um, I-I-I, uh-"

"Oh, don't you know, Sadie? He's too busy wacking off to his little sex puppets!" Kailani's gruff voice suddenly comes from behind me.

I scramble in my seat to glare at her, seeing her and Holden standing behind me. Sadie bursts out laughing, and my face somehow gets even hotter than it already was. Holden folds his arms across the top of my head and leans forward, forcing my head forward. He loudly whispers in my ear, "Maybe that's why he's trying to translate that weird book. Figure out vintage world war sex secrets."

Sadie giggles, "Is that why, Gaelin? You naughty boy."

I grit my teeth. I just want to knock that stupid smirk right off her face. Before I can react, though, I feel someone yanking the journal out from under me-again- and look up to see Tony reading it.

"Oooooh, you kinky freak, you! Makes sense he'd trust the French to try and get him off!" He laughs at his own joke.

With all that mishandling, they're going to break it. I get up from my seat so fast I think Holden falls back in surprise. "Hey, give that back-"

He holds it up in the air out of my reach, "Or what?" He mocks, jutting his lip out, "You'll knock my block off? Well, come and get it!"

I'm a bit tall, but even so Tony still has four more inches on him, so I have to try and reach up and get it, like some sort of elementary picture of two kids fighting over a toy truck. Tony grins before shoving me back, throwing it to Holden.

"Oh, what's the matter, 'Gailey-boy'? You worry we're gonna expose your deepest kinks?" I try to rush over in the small space I have, but I feel Sadie yank at the back of my hoodie, and I trip on the chair, crashing to the floor. I grit my teeth in pain, feeling my calf slam against the chair hard- it's most likely going to bruise by morning. I see Holden toss the journal to Kailani. She bends down and dangles it in front of me.

She reaches out and grabs the back of my head. I try shaking her head, but she digs in her nails into my scalp and pulls me forward. She whispers in my ear, "It's really rude to not share with your friends, Gaelin. Didn't your daddy teach you better than that?"

I'm breathing hard, refusing to look at her, concentrating on the floor. That bitch. That fucking bitch. That's a low blow, even for her.

My palms sting from my nails digging into them. I'm so close, I could just reach out. Yeah, scratch that pretty stupid face of hers, make her see who the fuck she's really dealing with-

"I hope you all have a good excuse for disorganizing my classroom," a voice says from the front.

We all look up to see Mr. Ramirez standing there, arms folded and eyebrow raised, letting us know he's not in the mood for games. Kailani frowns, but lets me go and shoves the journal at me. I get back in my seat as they all scatter like dust in the wind, though Sadie goes the length of knocking my pencils off my desk.

"Okay, class, open your books and turn them to page 250-" he begins the lecture.

I don't open my textbook. I don't even take out my notebook. I just sit with my head down, seething.

I hate Kailani so much. I hate her and all her stupid friends. I never did anything to them and they get so much joy out of treating me like crap. I hate them.

Some days I wish I was dead, just to finally get away with it all.

More days I wish they were dead. Then they'd learn. Then they'd see what it's like.

* * *

That night, I find an interesting twist.

 _June 10, 1941_

 _It's been...a little over a week since my beloved Elsa was killed. It seems my suspicions were right. Somehow, the Gestapo has been able to uncover the secret of my beloved puppets. They raided our home and tried to apprehend me and the puppets. Elsa, bless her soul, tried to keep their hands off the formula, and they shot her._

 _Oh, my poor Elsa. You have done nothing but enrich me with your love and purity, and this is how you must leave this cruel world, alone and in pain._

 _They think me a weak old man, surely, but they underestimate the power of my puppets. Jester and Pinhead took care of the SS officers and allowed us to escape. I was able to find Six Shooter and Tunneler, and am currently hiding away in this abandoned building that was blown up during a raid._

 _Major Krauss. That bastard. He took my Elsa from me. He thinks he'll be able to get his dirty paws on my formula. I will die before I ever let that happen._

 _But he is a fool. I will show him. I will show all of them._

 _Elsa has already been able to exact her vengeance. I know, it is a cruel fate I have condemned her to, in the body of a mere hollowed doll. She will never speak, nor feel again. Most certainly, she probably doesn't even remember who she is. But at least in this form- this new 'Leech Woman'- she can carry out her own vengeance until she feels she has been avenged._

 _They think they have won, that they have discovered the meaning to life and can use it for their own sick agenda. But they do not give us enough credit. We will show them. They will know when my puppets are the last thing to haunt their sight._

Whoa, that got really dark. I look over at Leech Woman, who's still sitting on the shelf overhead with the rest of her brethren.

Over the last few days, I've been thinking about that jar of liquid in the trunk. There's more and more mention of it in the journal as I read through it. There's...something about it that makes me feel like it's crucial to the puppets.

 _Doll form? Vengeance?_ What is he talking about? Am I reading some sort of mini Frankenstein or something?

I look back at the trunk. Some kind of pull is beckoning me towards it. I look back at the puppets. All old, worn, well-loved, been through some harsh times.

On a limb I take them all down and lie them flat on the floor.

I look in the trunk. The needle and jar are right where I left them, untouched. I nearly prick my finger on the needle as I bring them out. I look at the jar, the emerald green liquid still having that weird, awful smell to it. I lay them down in front of the puppets, kneeling. I pick up Blade, looking him over. His features are still as pristine as the day they arrived, his knife and hook glinting in the dim lighting. I turn him over, feeling that little metal hole on the back of his neck. I set him down beside me.

I pick up the needle and poke it through the top of the jar, pulling out a random amount of that goop.

Without thinking twice, I plunge it into the back of Blade's neck and squeeze the barrel down.

Then I do it with Jester.

Then Pinhead.

Then Six Shooter.

One by one, until all of them have gotten their fair share.

Now, I just sit back and wait.

* * *

 _A/N: Yes, I'm finally back!_

 _I'm so sorry for the hiatus, you guys. School has gotten so stressful these past few months I've barely ever had any free time to do anything that wasn't homework. On the bright side, though, you are talking to an official high school graduate! And, in even better news, I'm only one class away from earning my Associate's degree!_

 _And yes, I have finally chaned my screenname. Why Sapphire Ox. Well, long story short, it's a mix of my birthstone and Chinese zodiac year. I felt like a change was long over due- I came up with the name when I was about in sixth or seventh grade, so yeah, REALLY needed an improvement from the 2007 era. I don't know, the more I looked at my name the more it felt...really stupid. I like my new name now._

 _Again, I'm really sorry for such a long wait. I try to not update after a maximum of a month has passed, but with school stressing me out- this chapter WIP was waiting a looong time- my motivation and ideas for how to write the chapter were bled dry and I had no motivation. But now, since I'm going to have much more freetime now, I cannot wait to get back into writing!_

 _Stay tuned next chapter to find out what unfolds between Gaelin and our favorite puppets!  
_

 _~Sapphire Ox_


	8. The Awakening

**Chapter VII: The Awakening**

Aaaaaannnndddd...absolutely nothing happens.

It could've been anything. A ghostly vision, purple smoke,a light show, a portal to another world, _something_. But no, after probably three minutes, the puppets are still lying where I left them, me still kneeling over them, my legs starting to go numb.

I don't know exactly what I was expecting, but not just this. I have to say, I'm a bit more than disappointed.

I get up, tossing the needle onto my bed in annoyance. Great. I've probably done nothing but stink up the room by opening that green gunk. I pull off my jeans and shirt and look for something to sleep in, all the while I'm still huffing in annoyance. I mean, can you blame me? The old man writes all this stuff up and makes it seem all cool, and I do it and get zilch results. What a rip-off. Playing God my ass.

But as I throw on my pajamas, I hear something.

Like a creaking, slight clacking sound.

I turn back to the puppets. Still on the floor where I left them.

Except...wait a minute...Jester's hand is sticking up. That's weird. I don't know. I walk over to pick them up and put them back on their shelf.

A movement out of the corner of my eye distracts me though. I look to the right where Pinhead's laying on the edge. His...hand is moving.

But...that's not possible.

Another movement. This time to the left, where I left Six Shooter and Tunneler.

Six Shooter's hand is...moving. Up.

Then suddenly, there's a jitter, like a little wave going throughout all the puppets.

Oh god, they're...they're _moving._

I can just stand there, frozen, watching it all unfold like some sort of twisted thing out of _Annabelle_.

Their arms are twitching, reaching in the air like a baby's would, trying to get a grip of their movement. They start to- oh god, they're sitting up! I can see Blade arching his back as he waves his hook and knife in the air, like he's trying to find something to grab so he doesn't fall back. Pinhead pushes himself up, and I can see his tiny head looking around, focusing on the others as they try to gain their balance- _they're fucking standing up!_ \- standing up on their tiny feet, though they seem a little unsteady.

They're standing.

My puppets are fucking standing.

On their own.

They're all fucking standing. No fucking strings attached.

They're all looking around now, I guess trying to get their bearings.

Then, Blade looks-

Directly.

At.

Me.

I break out of my frozen horror enough to leap backward, and I end up crashing against my deck, the corner painfully jabbing me right in the back. I hear a few bottles fall over, but right now, all I can focus on is the fact that my _fucking puppets are moving on their own_. I crawl back against the wall desperately, like at any moment they're gonna come charging at me like a fun size army of Spartans.

I'm hyperventilating. What do I do, what do I do? Come charging? Get the broomstick? Lay down and come in peace?

Oh god, now they're all staring!

My heart is racing. My thoughts are too jumbled over the fact I just brought my puppets to life to think of a plan. What have I done?

I almost don't notice them start to come near me-

"STAY BACK!" I yell, too scared shitless to keep in mind everyone else is asleep.

And...surprisingly, they stay?

Like immediately, like we might as well be playing Red Light Green Light. They all freeze, and just look at me. Now I'm on a whole other level of confused.

I slide down, trying to ignore the drawer knobs digging into my spine. "Can...can you understand me?" I ask, pointing to myself.

To my shock, they nod.

Okay, now this is getting even weirder.

I slowly ease off the desk, shuffling towards them, one hand still out in caution. They're just staring back at me, like they're waiting for something. They all look up at me as I loom over them, me still in great disbelief that this is actually happening. I slowly reach out and poke Blade before snatching my hand back, a little bit fearful he's going to chop my hand off or something.

Blade just looks back at me, his mouth opening. But all that comes out is this weird hissing sound. Whether that's a good thing or bad thing, I don't know. Pinhead makes the same sound, only his is a little more gruff. I reach out and touch him, still a bit unconvinced I'm here right now. I do it to Leech Woman, only this time, she slaps my hand away, a disapproving 'humph!' coming from her. Okay, that's a development.

"Can you...talk?" I ask, unsure if I actually want to know the answer or not.

Blade shakes his head, bringing his knife hand across his throat. Six Shooter moves his three pairs of arms around, a low chuckle escaping him, but nothing else.

I stand up straighter, still in awe. So...so this is Toulon's great secret. That's why he refers to them so weirdly in his journal. They were actually living.

I'm startled by the sound of pounding on my door.

" _Gaelin, is everything all right in there?!"_ Paul calls from the other side.

Shit.

In my midst of being horrified, I completely forgot everyone else is asleep. I stare at the door, but it's only when I see the knob jiggling that I realize if him and Mom see the puppets, they're gonna freak. I hurriedly pull a blanket of the end of my bed and throw it over the seven of them. I can hear their little hisses of protests.

I practically run to the door for dear life and fling it open, obviously a surprise for both Mom and Paul. They're in their pajamas, Paul's hand frozen in mid air like he was about to knock again. I look at the both of them, trying to play it cool, though I bet my pale face and inability to keep eye contact doesn't help much.

"Y-yeah?" I ask, my voice cracking. Smooth, Gaelin. Smooth.

"Geez, Gaelin, what's going on in there?" Paul asks, "You sound like someone was strangling you."

"N-no, I'm good. I'm fine. I was just...um..." I stammer, looking back in the room to try and find a good excuse, trying not to stare at the blanket. There are little lumps in the blanket from where the puppets' limbs are moving.

"Just, uh, reading a scary story and got a little spooked," I look at them, trying to add a fake chuckle. Obviously from the looks on their faces, it's not working.

"Sweetie, are you sure you're all right?" Mom asks.

"Yeah! Yeah, I feel great. Just surprised myself there." Worst lie ever.

We all stand in silence for a minute, before Paul furrows his brows and looks over my shoulders. He asks, "What the hell's that sound?"

To my horror, I realize the puppets are still cooing, even though it's much more muffled. I throw my hand against the frame, hoping to shield the blanket from view.

"W-w-what sound?" I ask. That's it. Try and play it stupid.

He looks to Mom, both of them looking around at the ceiling. Mom offers, "It must be the pipes again."

"Damn. And they just got fixed too."

She looks back at me, a tired smile on her face as she reaches forward. I lean down to let her kiss my forehead, feeling her warm hand on my cheek. "Well, go to bed soon, honey. You need your sleep."

"Yeah, I know."

Paul looks at me. I can tell he's still a bit unconvinced, but he lets it slide. He nods his head and they make their way back towards their room. I watch them, waiting until they're back in their bedroom before finally shutting the door. A sudden tearing sound alerts me, and I turn back to find a small knife poking a hole through it. I rush and pull it off the puppets, feeling a bit guilty when I realize in my haste I've knocked them down. Their hair is all messed up. I hope I didn't break anything.

"S-sorry about that," I say, throwing the blanket back onto the bed, leaning down to help them stand, "I didn't want to risk them seeing you. It would've been total chaos."

I'm caught off guard when Jester's head starts spinning- so that's why it's divided up- the little bells on his now lopsided hat jingling.

When it stops, I'm freaked out at the fact that he no longer has the painted on smile, but a frown and sad eyes, like he's bothered. Okay, what the hell.

"Well, hey now," I say, "I didn't mean to agitate any of you. B-but Mom and Paul don't know what I did. If they saw you all moving they would've lost their minds, and who knows what would've happened."

They get all standing again, looking up at me with those fixed expressions of theirs (well, except for Jester). That's when I realize exactly what I'm doing. I'm standing in my room in the middle of the night, talking to a bunch of antique toys. Toys that I brought to life. With some weird green stuff. And a needle. Using notes form the journal of an old man.

Gaelin, what have you gotten yourself into?


	9. Bonding Time

**Chapter VIII: Bonding Time**

So I think it's safe to say the puppets trust me.

Or at least decided I'm not worth slicing into a million pieces.

I look at the clock. It's almost midnight. Crap. I look back to the puppets, who still seem to be getting a hold of their surroundings. I have absolutely no idea how I'm gonna be able to sleep knowing I just became the real life Doctor Frankenstein, but all I can think about is how tired and unready I'm gonna be for tomorrow if I don't even try to rest; I feel worn out just thinking about it.

On the other hand, though, it doesn't seem fair to leave them hanging around by themselves and just making stay still abruptly. They didn't ask to be brought to life, and who knows how long it's been since they've been walking around? Twenty years? Thirty? I scrub a hand through my hair in frustration. Damn me and my curiosity. I clap my hands together to get their attention, trying to figure out exactly how to word this.

"Okay, everyone! I know you're all excited to get used to your new surroundings," I stumble, "But I'm afraid we'll all have to wait until tomorrow to..um...figure things out."

The puppets all just stare at, heads tilted to the side like a bunch of cats wondering what's going on. Great.

I blow out a breath. I really don't need this right now. I feel exhausted, but how am the hell do I know these guys won't go sneaking off all over the house during the night when I'm asleep? I don't even want to think of what might happen to Josie if she sees this. I hang my head.

"Look," I say, "You don't have to be afraid, or whatever you might be feeling right now."

I'm not quite sure why I'm doing this, but I decide to wing it and hopefully come out of it in one piece. I take a seat in front of the puppets, crossing my legs. They keep looking at me, those expressionless faces with their unblinking eyes. I look to each of them.

"I'm Gaelin. I'm...the one who brought you to life," I explain, "A-a-and you don't need to be afraid or anything. Hell, I hardly even know what I was thinking, or what I was doing. B-but I promise that everything's going to be okay! You just, uh, um...have to trust me?"

Real smooth, Gaelin.

They just keep looking at me. Probably think I've lost my mind.

I run my hands through my hair. I don't know what to do. I rub my eyes. So much to figure out. So many questions, too little time.

Then, I feel something tiny touch my arm.

I look out between my fingers to see that Jester has managed to walk right up to me. His face is spun back to his usual smile. I jump in alarm, though I think by the way he falls back, he might be just as startled as I am. He looks back up at me.

And he extends his hand.

I stare at it for a moment.

Uncertainly, I take it in mine. It feels so tiny compared to mine. I can feel him move his arm.

Is he trying to shake my hand?

"Uh...that's a start, I guess," I mumble as I move my arm slightly.

Whatever it is, though, it seems to set off a chain reaction, because all of a sudden they're all moving towards me. I stiffen. Is this the part where they tie me up and take my house hostage, like out of _Small Soldiers_?

But...no. They all start towards me, gathered at my knees, looking up at me like they expect something. It's like a twisted nursery rhyme picture, with me being the Mother Goose telling all the little children about something. Fuck it, I have to try.

"Okay, well since it seems you're all cool with me so far," I start, picking up Jester and setting him beside Pinhead, so now they're all directly in front of me. I lean forward, now leaning on my knees, putting my chin on my hands.

"I know you're all very surprised at this. And I know you're very curious to explore the world and figure out what you've missed since you've been...asleep. Hell, I have no idea what's in store for me now that you've come to be, and believe me, I'd like to help you as much as I can. But first, we have to understand there's got to be some rules to this."

They all share a look that I think is of disbelief. I smile, they're just like a bunch of toddlers.

"I know, I get it, rules suck. But you all got to understand there's still a lot of people who wouldn't like the idea of this," I gesture to all of them, "I think you all are old enough to get that, right?"

The puppets slowly nod their heads. I nod in response. Glad we're on the same track.

"So, I'm also the only one who really has any idea of you guys thanks to this," I grab the journal, "And even then there's still a lot of questions I have. So if I'm gonna help you, you're gonna have to help me. And that means we have to make sure that none of that's in jeopardy. So we need a few rules to follow so everyone's safe and nothing's compromised.

Rule number one: You are to not leave this room until I say so. My mom and sister and stepfather like to come in here occasionally, but they have no idea about this, so you can imagine what would go down if my mother goes to get a glass of water in the middle of the night and she sees a bunch of toys moving on their own. Hell in a hand basket. Rule number two: if anyone does come in this room when I'm gone, _or_ I am in here with someone else, you all have to stay perfectly still. You can imagine how hard it would to be explain why my puppets are moving by themselves and what someone might do to you if they see it. And between all of us, I'd rather not have any of you damaged," I explain.

There's little hissing noises as they seem to contemplate what I've said, looking back and forth to each other for possibly confirmation and discussion. In the end, they all look back at me and nod their heads. I smile. This actually isn't so hard after all.

"Good. Glad we're on the same page."

* * *

I startle awake by the beeping of my alarm.

Part of me hopes that last night didn't actually happen, that I didn't really bring a bunch of old puppets to life and that it was all a dream, and that when I look to the shelf, they're all still there when I originally placed them.

No such luck. Nothing's there.

A spark of anxiety rushes through me, and I sit up, afraid that they'd have disobeyed me and snuck out anyway. Oh no, please, don't let it be. The last thing I need is for them to get damaged by the broom stick while Mom's screaming bloody murder.

However, when I look around, it seems that the puppets have made themselves comfortable around the room. Blade and Torch are on my dresser, the drawers pulled out enough to be fashioned into stairs, and they seem to be having some sort of conversation- if you can call a bunch of hissing and waving of hands a conversation. Six Shooter's on top of my desk, trying to draw something on a piece of paper (please don't let that be my math homework) with a pen. Tunneler's exploring a shoebox from under my bed. Leech Woman and Jester are sitting on the windowsill, both of them enjoying the sunshine and bright sky. I feel something brush my arm, and see Pinhead is standing right next to me.

"Ah!" I yelp, falling back in surprise, landing right on my ass and dragging the sheets with me. Jester spins his head, his expression now surprised- how the hell does he do that?- and Pinhead raises his hands in surprise. I groan as I get up , throwing the sheets back on.

"Sorry, little guy, you scared me," I say pulling my pants down where they've bunched at the knees.

I look around, hand on my hip. I run a hand through my hair, feeling tangles. It suddenly occurs to me that's today is Saturday, and if they don't call me into work, I'll have the whole day to myself. At least that's one good thing. I look at Six Shooter, who's still scribbling something on the desk. I walk over, leaning over to see what it is. It's some sort of weird symbol; a line going through a circle on top of something that looks the letter Omega. I take the picture out from under him, and he stares at me, that permanent smile with the gold tooth reading nothing. I look back at it, furrowing my brows.

I hear a sharp sound, and look to see Blade and the puppet, though it seems the 'conversation' has blown into an argument. Blade's hook and knife are waving around like crazy, and he points at the robot almost accusingly. The robotic puppet's eyes light up, and he opens his mouth, though the only thing that comes out is a bunch of grunts. Even without words, it's definitely getting heated.

"Hey, hey, hey, you two, calm down," I say. Something tells me that if I don't step in, it's gonna get physical. And with Blade having a knife for a hand, definitely don't need to see stuffing flow.

They look at me. Blade's mouth opens, hissing as he raises his hands. The robot's doing the same, but I'm getting a feeling that it's supposed to be a glare. I stare at him right back. I put my hands on my hips, looking around.

"Okay, all of you gather around," I gesture and grab the journal.

I grab my chair and sit down as the puppets gather at my feet, flipping through random pages.

"Let's do a quick role call, just so I don't mistake anyone by calling them the wrong name," I explain.

"Blade," I nod to him, and he nods back.

"Pinhead." He waves his large hands.

"Six Shooter, Tunneler, Jester." They wave their hands, one right after the other.

"Leech Woman, of course." She runs a hand through her hair.

"Aaaand...seems we're still a little undecided on what to call you," I mention to the robot, flipping through a few pages to try and find the name suggested, "Uhhh...'Shredder Khan'?"

I already thought that was a no, but by the frantic way the puppets shake their heads, it's like I smashed one of their own right in front of them. The robot actually _growls_ , aiming his hand-less arm at me, clearly offended. "Okay, okay," I say, pushing my hands down to calm them, "I get it. Wrong one.

"But the thing is, I can't find any other name that seems to suit you, little guy," I explain.

I set the book down, crossing my fingers and putting my mouth to them in thought. "Okay, let's see...Bullet Mouth?"

Lame, and obviously wrong.

"Red Glare? Blitzkrieg?"

No.

"Pickelhelm? Kaiser? Wehrmacht? I don't know, Dresden?"

All wrong. By this point, the puppet looks like he's about to bash my head in, waving his amputee arm around like he's about to something other than pointing- though he seems to be stopped by Blade who keeps whacking him with his hook. I throw up my hands in frustration. I already suck at charades- having everyone lack the capacity to be able to vocalize words and only have limited movement doesn't make it any easier.

"Well can you give me a hint, then?!" I exclaim, annoyed, "I'm not exactly a mind reader."

Blade looks over at the robot, and they have a mini staring match, before Blade briefly nods his head before shooting his knife arm up in what I guess is a warning, though the robot waves him off. Shooting me another glare, the robot walks away a few feet, before turning to look back at him. The robot raises his missing hand, another growl coming from his throat as his eyes glow.

All of a sudden, a brief flame shoots out of it.

" _Shit!_ " I yell as I jump back, feeling the heat, the smell of gasoline making my stomach churn. I overestimate my strength, though, and the chair ends up tipping backwards, and I narrowly avoid hitting my head on my closet door. I scramble to sit upright. The puppets are all staring at me, Jester having that shocked look on his face again.

"Is...is that why your hand is missing?!" I question, pointing to the robot.

He nods. I get a feeling that he's a little more than pleased with himself. Cheeky brat.

I stare at him, bewildered. First I have a puppet that has weapons for hands. Then I have a puppet who's face changes somehow by just turning it, and now I have a puppet that has a built in flamethrower.

"Um," I try to get over my initial shock, "Okay! You do flames! That's a bit more helpful. Okay, think, think, what goes with that? Uh...Firestarter?"

The robot snarls at me, clearly insulted.

"Okay, geez. Um...Torch?"

The robot lowers his hand, this time. He gives a short, curt nod.

Finally, I've gotten it right.

I nod my head slowly, "Okay, good. So we finally have a name to that face. Torch..."

That's weird. There's no mention of a _Torch_ in any of Toulon's logs when I skimmed through it. At first, I credit it to maybe he was one of the last ones Toulon created, but even then I found Leech Woman and Blade's names in logs towards the end.

That's when I realize I have a pyro-wielding puppet in my possession. And from the vibe 'Torch' is giving off, he doesn't seem all too keen at hiding it.

That's just fan-fucking-tastic.

"Oh great," I close my eyes as I slide to the floor.

It's going to be a long day.

* * *

 _Note: The symbol Six Shooter is seen drawing is the one of protection that the retro puppets draw for Toulon in Retro Puppet Master._


	10. Past Scars

**Chapter IX: Past Scars**

Over the weekend, it doesn't take long for the puppets to get cozy with their new atmosphere. I, luckily, don't get called into work at all, so it gives me the time I need to make sure that they can be properly assimilated into their surroundings.

It's quite an adventure, honestly. You wouldn't think it because they can't talk, but apart from their designs, it's actually really easy to pick up on their little traits and habits that help determine their personality. Not to make them sound inferior or anything, but it makes them seem like babies, or puppies.

Blade's the de facto leader, that much is obvious. He's always the one they look to when they look like they have questions, or don't know what to do. He also gives off a vibe that he's a bit on the rational side, always looking like he contemplates his choices before he makes a decision. Considering he is a bit at a disadvantage with having no hands, he still manages to get by and around very independently.

Pinhead is more on the big bear side- he's all the muscle, but also all heart. Whenever the others can't lift something, he's always there to help lift heavier objects or help the others onto platforms when their arms are too short to reach. He's also much more of a follower, seemingly always staying in the back and observing rather than leading and directing. Tunneler, I can't really pinpoint. He really keeps to himself most of the time, and hardly hisses like the others. A really quiet one, he is.

Jester, like his namesake, is definitely the clown of the group and the most mischievous. He likes getting into _everything_. In my drawers, in my closet, between the sheets; he can never stay still, always curious to see what he can find. Though, he is definitely the baby of the family. Maybe it's because he's the only one who can show emotion with that head of his (how he does that, still haven't figured out), but whenever he has his pouty face on, one of them always comes to his aid to cheer him up. There's also an air of optimism to him, like he's the one in the movies who's always trying to look on the bright side of things. Leech Woman, being the sole femme fatale, is the silent but deadly type: she starts off being the calm of the group whenever there's a problem, or silently watching an exchange happen. And before I know it, she's rough housing with Torch or Six Shooter, with the meanest looking frown on her face. She seems to favor Blade out of all them, mostly being by his side when they're gathered together.

Six Shooter tries to be the tough guy who always wants to impress the rest of the kids in the neighborhood. He has a habit of spinning those tiny pistols of his, walking with a spring in his step like he's trying to show off. He also seems to get impatient easily, as whenever Jester or Pinhead are messing around, he'll quickly be the one to throw his hands up in annoyance or tug on Tunneler when it's like whatever they're doing is taking too long. Lest to say, I don't think he's impressed them very much.

But out of all of them, Torch is the blatantly obvious black sheep of the family. He's no doubt a lone wolf and always tends to keep to himself. When he is involved in communicating with the others, their body language infers that it's an argument; and believe me, it's like, three seconds into talking before they're at it. I swear, he's constantly glaring at me, and now that I know his namesake, I have a bad feeling his thoughts mostly revolve around if he should roast me today or not. He's also the only one who tries to go against the rules I've established. He'll try to follow me out the door or climb out the window, and would succeed would it not be for his voice or the others warning me in time. The little rebel, he is. Never mind that, though. He'll have to try harder than that.

Right now, I seem to have been awarded the role of trivia teacher, sitting on the floor and trying to finish my science homework, all the while trying to answer any questions the puppets seem to have when they find random objects around the room. Like when Tunneler finds the Magic 8-Ball that rolled behind my desk and I had to explain that there wasn't actually some little being trapped inside the fluid. Or when they get a hold of my sketch markers and I have to prevent Torch from using the fluid inside to create a bonfire.

"That's a Rubix cube, you rearrange it and then put each together on each side," I say when I see Six Shooter pointing to it.

He just stares at me. I hang my head, realizing that that explanation makes no sense. "Look," I say as I grab it from him. I mess the cube up even more, "You see how each square has a different color on it? Well, now you try and figure out how to get the squares that have the same color on the same side, get it? Like, all red squares on one side, all yellow on the other, so on and so forth."

Of course, this explanation doesn't really help, seeing as when I tried the Rubix cube, I sucked complete ass at it and eventually left it to gather dust. So as I try to show him, all I end up doing when I twist the sides together is messing up the colors together even more. Six Shooter looks at me, and I get a feeling he's not very impressed.

"Okay, let's just leave that alone for now, shall we?" I say, tossing the cube behind me.

I hear a bit of a scuffle behind me, and look to see Pinhead and Jester are digging through my desk drawers, rifling through my bags of doll parts (limbs, synethic hair, glass eyes, that whole shindig), opening them and taking them out.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa there, hold it right there!" I blurt out, abandoning my notebook and rushing over, "Those aren't for touching!"

Trying not to be too forceful, I take the bag out doll heads that Pinhead has in his hands (oh boy, that'd be one morbid sentence taken out of context) and zip it shut. Him and Jester look at me in what I think is surprise.

"I don't want you guys touching these," I reprimand, "They're very delicate, and cost a lot of money, okay? Just...be careful with them, all right?"

Pinhead gives me a short, curt nod. Jester raises his hands and makes a cooing sound, also nodding. Good enough.

I nod in response. I feel a tugging at my pant leg, looking down to see Blade pulling with his hook, pointing somewhere at the bed with his knife. "What? What is it?" I ask, turning around. Leech Woman is on the nightstand.

She's standing right next to Goselyn, one of the dolls I've made myself. Leech Woman looks to her, then to me, obviously looking for an explanation. She's fiddling with Goselyn's skirt, examining her like you would an antique in a museum. I smile, trudging over. I lean down, coming to her eye level.

"Aw, I see you've found my darling," I say. I pick up Goselyn from her stand, looking at her fondly. She's a few years old, but her paint is still as perfect as the day I first touched her up. Her light green glass eyes are still shiny and bright, her apricot colored curls bouncy and silky with shine, lacking any evidence of frizz. Her dress is a little dusty, but the lace and ribbons are still in tip-top shape. I smile fondly, thinking of when I first started on her. It took me six months, and plenty of restless nights of going back and fixing details I didn't like, but she turned out amazing.

I look up at Leech Woman. Her black eyes are looking down at me with intent, a small smile on her ruby lips. She has her head tilted like a curious child, waiting for an answer. I hold the former up for her to see. I say, "This is Goselyn."

"I made her myself. Do you like her?" I ask. Leech Woman looks at Goselyn for a few seconds, before turning back to me and nodding, cooing in delight. I can feel my smile grow bigger. She looks up, and seems to actually notice all the dolls for the first time. She coos in question, gesturing to them.

"Oh, no, not all of them," I answer, "Just a select few. Most of them I've collected over the years. Well, I collected part of them. My dad was the one who started the whole thing. He got me into it when I was old enough to understand what to spend. Heh, I remember one time we were looking for this really expensive one- it was about a hundred years old, at the youngest- and we spent all day in the middle of nowhere turning the flea market inside out just trying to find-"

I stop, just realizing what I've thought about.

Dad.

And then, there it is again. That pain, that raw ache that still feels as fresh as it was when everything happened. Memories come flooding back: hearing Dad wasting away, being unable to help him when I'm only three feet away, waking up in the hospital, Mom telling me what happened, the funeral, the goodbyes, the constant feeling of loneliness, the thoughts of just wanting to end it all-

It isn't until I feel myself sob that I snap out of it.

I look back up at Leech Woman. Her eyes have a glint- concern maybe?- and she touches my cheek in worry. It's then I realize I've started crying, my cheeks damp with fresh tears. I look down at Goselyn; her face is wet with teardrops. I feel a hand on my arm, and the rest of the puppets are looking up at me, Jester's face twisted into a sad frown. I bite my lip. There's a twisting, burning feeling in my chest, overwhelming me. I let out a breath- it's all shaky- putting my hand on Jester's head, trying to comfort them.

"I-it's okay," I try to reassure, "I'm okay. It's just...I miss him."

Leech Woman strokes my cheek again, like she's trying to tell me she understands.

It's been a long time since I've said that out loud.

I hear a light knocking at the door. Quickly wiping my eyes, I gesture for everyone to play dead while I hurry to the door. I open it to find Josie standing there, holding Mr. Jingles- oh the irony- and clad in her favorite yellow pajamas. She looks up at me with tired eyes.

"Gaeley, can you- were you crying?" she begins, before cutting herself off.

I love Josie to death, but at this moment I mentally curse her and her clear cut observing that all little kids have. Nothing gets past her.

I try to play it dumb, putting on a half smile, "Oh no, of course, I wasn't Josie-cat!"

"Then why do you look so sad?"

Dammit. I grit my teeth, trying to keep my voice steady and changing the subject, "I-I wasn't sad, Josie-cat. Now, what are you doing up?"

She looks at me, her blue eyes full of fear, "I had a bad dream. There was a bunch of monsters under my bed, and they tried to eat me."

I smile, this time sincerely, as I lean down to her eye level. It's really mean to say this, but I'm glad that Josie had a nightmare, since at least it takes the subject off me.

"It's okay, honey," I say, "You need me to check for you?"

Josie nods, "Yes, please."

"Okay," I answer as I take her hand, looking over my shoulder to the puppets. At least we dodged a bullet this time.

At least I can forget the past, for now.


	11. School Daze

**Chapter X: School Daze**

Monday eventually rolls around, the familiar dread of a new week coming with it. Only this time, it's amplified a thousand times over with the thought that the puppets will have to be left alone. Only a few days alive and already, I have to take a leap of faith and hope I won't come home to a priest cleansing the house of all evil or Mom having had a heart attack.

My heart's already pounding from the mere thought of it. That's about nine hours with no supervision. They'll all just be left to their own devices without anyone to tell them when to hit the deck if someone comes in, or that they're being too loud, or who's who. It's all just one big fucking game of Russian roulette. It's all I could think about last night, the hours dwindling way too fast. I hardly slept, my anxiety and the thought of everything that could go wrong just repeatedly running through my thoughts, refusing to give me a moment of peace.

I try to tell myself that the puppets have given me no reason to think that they'll disobey me, that they'll be fine. But still. It's like babysitting Josie and a bunch of her friends and leaving them alone with the cookie jar- trouble's bound to erupt.

"Okay, you all know the drill," I go over last minute details with Blade and all of them as I rush to get all my things together. I took a shower to try and ease my nerves. It didn't help.

"You are to never leave the room. Under NO circumstances, period- Torch, that includes you too," I reprimand, seeing him off staring into space like he's trying to ignore me; cheeky bastard, "Don't make any noise that might draw any unexpected attention, don't move if anyone's in the room at the time, and don't try and play it cute and rearrange yourselves for a scare. Understood?"

They all look at me, and I take that as a sign they get it. Albeit probably really reluctantly, but no matter.

If I'm totally honest with myself, I know it's me who has more of the problem than them; my heart feels like it's about to burst out of my chest (or at least give me palpitations), I keep fidgeting and pacing the room, and I have constant thoughts of just backing out and faking being sick just so I don't have to leave them behind. I have to keep talking myself out of about it, lest Mom walk in on me talking to myself and roaming around, obviously not sick. Or worse, her jumping to the worst conclusions and already dialing 911 before she even opens the door. I scrub my hands over my face, realizing I'm trying to waste time on purpose.

Blowing out a breath, I gather up my bag and walk to the door. My hand freezes, and I turn around, frowning in uncertainty. They're all still gathered on my bed, looking at me like a bunch of small puppies awaiting my next move. My heart is twisted in regret; I don't want to leave them. I don't want to go to school. I don't want to go anywhere.

I look up at the other dolls. They stare back at me, their shiny hollow expressions forever the same.

I swallow hard.

"I'll be back," I say to the puppets.

Whether or not it's convince them or myself, I'm not sure.

* * *

Scratch that, it's totally me.

Of course, the day has to go excruciatingly slow.

Not to mention full of stuff to deal with that I'd rather not deal with.

Mr. Petinsky slams a paper down on my desk. I don't move from my slouched over position, only lifting my head to look at him, his face unreadable, then back to down to my paper, revealed to be my report on _The Chocolate War_. On top of all the little paragraphs of comments he's left as commentary, there's a large D- circled a the top next to my name.

"I have to say, I expected much better of you, Mr. Killough," he comments dryly, "With such talent you've produced the previous year in analyzing the social commentaries in what we read and weighing them with societal values, to see such a shortcoming in what is not even very advanced material is disappointing in the least."

Join the club.

"I'm sorry," I mumble, looking downward, my hands in my lap. I hear Mr. Petinsky huff as he walks away, looking up at out of my peripheral to see him walk forward to the next student. I hear muffled sniggers and turn around, seeing some of the students looking at me, sneering and chuckling at my berating. Assholes. Like they did so much better. And it's not like I didn't understand the assignment- I actually quite enjoyed the book- but when you can't so much as go a single day without thinking about whether or not you should kill yourself, it's a bit hard to get the answers on paper.

Second period is Gym. Honestly, whoever thought Gym as a morning class was a good idea? You get all sweaty and worn out in only the second hour of the day, you have to go outside and freeze your ass off until you get all sweaty and worn out, and then they expect you to be able to shower, dry off, and be presentable for the next class in only ten minutes. Give me a break.

It doesn't help that they make us wear the stupid uniform that just shows off how weirdly thin and gangly my legs are, or that I have arms with absolutely no muscle whatsoever. Yeah, no thanks.

Coach MacNeil has us all line up, and out of all things, of course, he decides the best thing to do today is flag football. Great. Nothing to brighten your day like loosing all feeling in your toes and cheeks while having to run around on wet turf- that might not sound bad, but when it's cold and wet out, sliding on the turf feels like you're getting burned- and trying not to slip while getting kicked by random feet.

"Come on, you guys, hustle!" He yells as we all scramble, trying to get even a foot close to the guy with the ball. It's a goal about as easy as climbing Mount Everest while holding your breath, considering most of the football team is in the class and wear their cleats whenever we use the field, not to mention most of them get put on the same team.

I take a moment to catch my breath, observing the moment as Jamari Reynolds manages to jump and block Micah Czajkowski's catch of the ball, turning an impossible angle and dashing off with everyone else following him to the first down. Micah's a huge guy with a frame the length of French doors and arms that expand the width of two children, so seeing a little guy like Jamari managing to outdo him is pretty funny.

I chuckle. The scene reminds me of Pinhead and Jester a little: the big brawny dude being outsmarted by the tiny rascal.

Thinking about the puppets causes a small little pang in my chest. I hope they're all right.

" _Look out, Palelin_!"

I'm snapped out of my distraction a bit too late by the sound of shouting to my left, looking to my right and catching only a hint of black hair before something large slams into me and sends me to the ground.

The combination of an elbow in my gut and the slam of landing straight on my back knocks the wind out of me. In my daze, I barely register the feel of hands pressing into my chest or the feel of black box braids running over my face, trying to inch my way out from under the person, but only end up making them fall back onto me. There's the sudden sound of running feet, and I see everyone, including the coach, running over. I see dark skinned hands place themselves on either side of me, and look up to see the dark eyes of Zuri Delgado- one of the prettiest and most popular girls in school- staring at me.

I suddenly realize what the scene must look like, and feel my face go red.

"I-"

"Why don't you pay more attention, dumbass!" Zuri's boyfriend Javon shouts as he grabs Zuri's arm and helps her up.

"I-I-I I'm sorry," I stumble, feeling small over everyone staring down at me like some sort of mob. As the crowd disperses, I can still feel their stares. Most are looking at me with doubt- like they're weirded out by me- while some look like they're about to laugh, though others it's just annoyance.

"You okay, sport?" Coach asks as he helps me up.

"Y-yeah."

I don't think he really cares, though, by the way he just says, "You need to have your head in the game more, son. You're lucky neither of you got a concussion by the force of that collision."

I hang my head, "I know."

" _Dude, how did he not see her?"_

" _He was just standing there with his thumb up his ass. I swear he's got some sort of learning disability or something."_

" _What could you expect from someone like him?"_

They're all whispering, but it's loud enough that I can hear every word clearly.

I watch Coach and all them walk away, feeling dampness from the dew on my back.

I try to get involved, I try to stay out of the way, and either way, it's never enough.

I want to go home. I want to see my puppets.

They wouldn't judge me.

They could understand, at least.

* * *

"Gotta say, Gaelin, I hear that stunt you did was quite a scene."

"Yeah, if only I had my phone, it was so Instagram worthy!"

Kailani and Sadie. Great.

I don't respond, trying to focus on the text in front of me. I'm about three chapters behind for class and try to get the rest of the homework done. But of course, when I have the Evil Queen and her sidekick a foot away, it makes it a little more challenging.

"So, you'd ever get to the end of that weird journal?" Kailani asks, "You have to tell me all the juicy stuff you found in there! Maybe I could use it with Holden from time to time."

I have actually still continued with the journal, but it doesn't really explain much. All it says is that Toulon ended up fleeing to Switzerland when his wife died, and then to America. The last entry cuts off in 1939, with Toulon talking about how he realizes that the SS is onto him, and that he was going to do whatever possible to keep their hands off the formula (seeing what it causes, I can understand), and that he was planning on hiding the puppets away in this crawl space in this hotel room, and then it just ends. Presumably, seeing how they ended up with me, someone found them and traded them off.

Of course, I have no reason nor any desire to relate this to Kailani.

But of course, spineless little Gaelin doesn't get to decide what he wants.

"It wasn't very interesting," I mumble, "Just...I don't know...a bunch of details about where he was gonna hide his things and all that."

"Oh, don't be shy," Kailani says, putting her head on my shoulder in mock comfort, "You don't have to hide your kinks from me, Gaelin. I'm always willing to give new things a try."

I grip my pencil. Can't she ever just leave me be?

Luckily, it doesn't go further than that since Mr. Ramirez walks right in. I try to focus, though I can feel the group's eyes on me, probably thinking of how else to make the day a living hell for me once class is over.

"Okay, class, so today I'm going to assign you your partners for the end of the year project."

There's a collective groan from everyone in response to his statement, me included.

The end of the year project is this big dumb thing where we have to choose from some big event in history and talk about what happened, the aftermath, and how it impacted modern society today. The whole thing is worth sixty percent of the final grade, so it's definitely not something that you can just give the bare minimum for. It sounds bad enough on its own, but we don't even get the luxury of choosing our own partners.

"Now, now, we all knew this was coming," he replies sternly, looking down at his list, "So when I call your pair's name, if you're not already, please move and sit with, or at least near your partner. But WAIT until I call everyone's names so you all can hear. "

My stomach fills with dread at the thought that I might get Kailani or Holden or any one of their friends as their partner. Please, God, don't be more of a dick to me today. Please not now.

"Trudy and Siohban. Sue and Darcy. Brandon and Austin. Sadie and Zach-"

There's a squeal. Sadie's been having the hots for him since third grade.

"Tracy and Megumi. Holden and Luke. Tony and Sheldon (" _you gotta be kidding me!")_ Zora and Steffan. Gabriel and Britney-"

Please don't say my name and Kailani, please don't say my name and Kailani.

"Kailani and Oswin."

Oh,dear sweet lord, thank you!

"Gaelin and Audrey."

I freeze.

Judging by the sudden snorts and snickers from the back- undoubtedly from Kailani and Holden- I can tell they're thinking the exact same thing I am.

Audrey Losnedahl moved here sophomore year from Norway because of her dad's job as a software developer. She instantly managed to make a name for herself as one of the school's alternative kids from her almost-all-black wardrobe, multiple ear and facial piercings, brightly dyed hair, and her taste in music being the loud, instrumental, and macabre lyrical kind- though I have heard there's been several debates among the metal kids as to whether she's more goth, emo or punk. She speaks four languages, plays the flute, and writes for the school paper. She loves Darkthrone and Lordi, though she also holds a big soft spot for Cradle of Filth. Her favorite movie is Trollhunter and she has hopes for becoming an author one day. She gained her greatest infamy, though, when she totally exposed Mr. Wilkerson canoodling with one of the lunch ladies during study hall while his wife was in labor, though she managed to get under the radar and write the material in a way that prevented them from suspending her. All in all she's quite an interesting persona.

I've also had the _biggest_ crush on her since then.

Which makes it all the more horrific now that I have the knowledge that my dumbass is going to be working with her the rest of the semester.

"And finally, Eliza, Marty, and Lakeisha will have to be our trio, since we're a few students short this semester. Now, then if you all will, please take your seats with your partners if you're not already."

Okay, calm down, Gaelin. No need to get so worked up. Don't try and embarrass yourself the first day. I slowly get up from my seat as everyone moves twice as fast as me. My eyes search for Audrey, catching her gaze as she sits at her desk, arms crossed as she raises her eyebrows, obviously wanting me to the be the one to move. I pick all my stuff up, nerves an absolute mess as I shuffle over to her.

Holden knocks my shoulder on purpose as he brushes by me. I look over my shoulder, seeing him smirk in that way that lets me know he has something in store for me later. I end up running into a desk, earning glares from both Sue and Darcy, before I plop down (because that's not drawing attention to myself) next to Audrey.

She looks up from her book at me, and gives me a small smile. Her hair's dyed this orange to yellow ombre that brushed to one side that really brings out the gold of her eyes. Her nose and lip ring stand out against her pale skin, and she's wearing this maroon lipstick that really compliments it and oh god, I'm staring.

"Now, if you all remember, I gave you a list on all the topics you can do for the project," Mr. Ramirez interrupts my train of thought, "Now, I'm not saying these are the only options, but they're here to help you get an idea of what exactly I'm looking for. If you want to do something unlisted, please come to me first to make sure that it's relevant to the class..."

I try to focus on the subjects, but all my thoughts keep coming back to the fact that Audrey is right next to me. I don't want to look at her out of fear that she'll catch me staring like some sort of creep. But god, she's so beautiful- dammit, stop that.

I think about the puppets. I just want to run home and make sure they're doing fine. I look at the clock. There's still thirty minutes left of class. And it's only third period.

Dammit.

"Are you all right?" Audrey asks me, the hint of an accent sprinkling her words.

I feel my face go red, "Um..yeah. Just want this class to be done with."

"I know what you mean," she sighs, "I don't even know what I was thinking signing up for this."

I chuckle, and she gives me a smile in return. I can feel my heart leaping.

Disaster avoided. Score one for me.

Sadly, that's as good as it gets. Fourth period, I get stuck with Jamie Duncan for chemistry lab and have to do all the work while he texts the entire hour, only for him to berate me when it turns out a good portion of the answers I came up with were wrong. Lunch time, I realize I've left my wallet at home and get stuck with the cardboard cafeteria food, along with a giant stain on my shirt when Tony 'accidentally' trips and dumps his cherry soda all over me. Fifth period we get slammed with a pop quiz which I completely bomb, and sixth period Mrs. Dwight chews me out for not staying after class after she handed my test back and lets me know she's going to be calling my mom about my grades.

By the time the bell finally rings, I feel like a zombie, like nothing around me is registering.

The only thing that keeps me going is the thought that I can finally find out how the puppets are doing. Hopefully they haven't burnt the house down by now.

I rush out as fast as I can, first speed walking, trying to remain calm and maintain a good image while making the distance between me and the house. But then I break into a jog, and before long I'm full out sprinting by the last block. I rip the door open, slamming it behind me as I rush upstairs.

Please, don't let me find them smashed to pieces.

Or anything broken.

Or Mom dead on the floor from an aneurysm.

"I'm here!" I yell as I fling open the door.

The puppets are all on my bed, gathered in a circle...

...coloring?

They all whip their heads at me, and I think I've startled them. That's when I realize I'm standing in the doorway with my chest heaving, eyes probably the size of dinner plates. Yeah, I'd freak too if someone like that just barged into my personal space. They're all staring at me now.

"Um...yeah...I'm here," I stutter, suddenly embarrassed. I shut the door and toss my bag, walking over the bed.

"Sorry about that, just had a stressful day," I apologize, plopping down near the headboard, "I couldn't stop thinking about you guys and if anything went wrong. I take it you all did as you were told?"

Tunneler and Six Shooter nod at me. I nod back just because I feel awkward and don't know what else to say.

"Good. I know it's hard and it's boring, but it's just too risky. Nobody else knows about you guys. You understand, right?"

Nods from multiple heads.

I smile. I swear, this is some really fucked up reality if this is the highlight of my day.

"I promise that it won't always be like this. Some day, when the time's right, I promise I'll take you out. Everyone deserves a little fresh air, right-"

" _Gaelin?_ "

It's Mom.

To my surprise, the puppets instantly drop dead, like something out of Toy Story. For a moment I just sit there, stunned at the immediate response. I snap out of it and trot over to the door.

"Yeah?"

Mom looks over my shoulder, "Who are you talking to?"

Crap.

"Uh, um, nobody! I-I-I mean I was on the p-phone! Y-yeah, I was just talking to my friend."

"Your friend?" she asks, disbelief in her blue eyes.

She can't believe I still have friends. It's harsh and hurtful, but I can't blame her. The phone records would show that other than her or Paul or work, nobody's called me in months.

I shuffle my feet, "Y-yeah, she's uh, a girl in my class. We're starting the end of the year project, and we were going over what to do. You know, start early and all."

Mom nods slowly.

"Okaaaayyy. Well, dinner will be ready soon, sweetie."

"Okay."

I watch her walk away. I notice her pause, looking over her shoulder at me.

Dread grows in a pit in my gut and I quickly dart back into my room. I know that look. She's wanting to talk to me about the elephant in the room; but like always, neither of us have the words or know where to start. I frankly, definitely am not ready for that bridge, so I don't linger in case she changes her mind and comes back.

I love my mom. And I know she wants to help. But I can't. She doesn't need the added stress. She doesn't need to live with that.

As soon as I close the door, I hear rustling, and turn around to see the puppets already up and moving again.

I give a half smile.

Maybe I could get used to this after all.


	12. The Threads Unraveling

**Chapter XI: The Threads Unraveling**

"Boy, get a move on! We needed those tables cleaned off ten minutes ago!"

"Y-yes sir, s-sorry, I'm on it."

"And what is with these dishes? Look, there are still bits of food stuck to it! The hell are you doing back there for two hours, giving handjobs?!"

I feel my face flush bright red, "N-no, sir. I'm sorry, I'll be more observant."

"You better," Grant growls, his pig-like face staring down at me as he pushes past me, going to the back of the kitchen.

The feel of stares on my shoulder makes me turn, and I find that half of the customers are now staring at me; I can't decide if it's more infuriating when they turn away when I catch their eyes or when they keep oggling. Damn drama vultures. I hang my head and try to go faster at busing the tables. It's really disgusting, honestly, having to pick up people's dirty dishes, especially when you find stuff liked used tissues or toothpicks in half eaten lasagna. My stomach flip flops at the mere thought.

"Don't let Grant get to you. You know he always has a stick up his ass, even on his best days," A voice says beside me.

I look to see my manager, Carter, placing clean glasses filled with silverware and napkins on the spots have been clear, while helping to put the dirty dishes on my tray. His curly black hair falls in his face as he rearranges the dishes so they fit better on the tray. He catches me staring at him and he gives me a smile, his hazel eyes holding no hint of contempt.

Carter's probably one of the only people who actually puts up with me and gives me a bit more emotion other than apathetic annoyance- especially when it comes to working in this shithole, where customers act like you're only good for being their personal doormat- so at least there's a bit of a plus side that keeps me from just quitting. That, and I need the money.

Though having Grant breathe down my neck all night- or pretty much any other night for that matter- and the humiliation of being talked down to in front of everyone really tests that.

I just nod sheepishly and carry my tray to the kitchen, organizing all of them in the appropriate racks and cases before sliding one full of dirty cups into the dishwasher. I look up at the clock. Six fifteen. Still two more hours to go. Fuck my life.

"So, you got any plans for the weekend?" Carter asks as he sets another tray down.

I shrug again, "Not really. Homework. Maybe running a few errands."

I don't tell him that the thing I do have to look forward to is that I promised the puppets I'd take them out to the park tomorrow, get them some fresh air. Paul's going to be at work and Mom likes to get up early to get her grocery shopping done earlier in the day, so I can sneak away without having to explain myself. I know, I know, it sounds pretty ridiculous that I'm taking a bunch of my dolls out, but hey, you'd probably go crazy too if you were constantly held up in a tiny room for a month. It's the least I could do.

"Oh," Carter replies, "Well, if you're not too busy, my friend's having a party out near Nisqually near eight. Thought maybe you'd want to come?"

And have to talk to a bunch of strangers? Absolutely not.

"Oh, um, sure, I guess," I answer instead, "I'll see i-if I can make it."

"Great! You have my number, right? So if you have any questions, just call me!"

"Okay."

It's not like I get enjoyment from lying, especially when it's someone like Carter, who's been the only person since I started here to make an effort to be nice. But I'd rather not risk making a complete fool of myself for a first impression.

I let the next rack go through when the dishwasher's done. I wonder if the puppets are okay. I discovered they're most active during the nighttime, probably since that's the least likely chance anyone's awake. They don't do much, so it's okay for the most part. Well, except a little part of me is worried what they do around _me_ while I'm sleeping. Hopefully I don't wake up one day all tied to the bed, or god forbid, with sharpie written all over my face-

"Gaelin, hurry your ass up! Michel and Nino need those plates!" Grant's voice yells from behind.

Just two more hours...just two more hours...

* * *

I get a text from Mom asking if I can pick up Josie from Mr. Frost's house, since she had a surprise at work and is going to be late in order to pick up dinner. It seems creepy, walking alone at night in the dead of winter, but surprisingly, it's actually very soothing. Blowing out a breath, I watch the little cloud that it forms. My nose and ears are starting to get cold. It's almost pitch black outside, the stars covered by the clouds, the only source to guide my way being the dim streetlights. Lets me be alone with my thoughts.

"My god, boy, what the hell you doing out here with no hat or scarf?" Mr. Frost rattles off the moment he sees me, "You best put that hood up before you end up getting' some frostbite!"

I roll my eyes, "Good to see you too, sir."

"Don't you be getting slick out of the mouth with me, boy! I'll knock you into next week!"

I'd really love to see him try.

"Gaeley!" Josie squeals as she runs out, diving at my legs and wrapping her tiny, pudgy arms around them. She has a piece of paper clutched in her left hand, giving me a wide grin.

"Mr. Frost let me use his old art supplies, and I drew a picture of us for Mommy for her birthday!" she explains as she holds up her masterpiece.

Obviously the work of a child, there are four stick figures sloppily scrawled in acrylic paint over a messy blue background, complete with a streaky green grass ground and a giant yellow sun in the corner. The four figures are holding hands and they all have smiles on their faces.

"Aw, that's so sweet of you, Josie-cat!" I act amazed, "Such detail! Momma is gonna love it!"

Her cheeks are bright red, and her smile is like a lightbulb, "Mr. Frost even says if Mommy will let us, he'll give us some of them to take home!"

"Did he?" I ask, an eyebrow raised, genuinely surprised. Mr. Frost is a lot of things, but generous and gift giving isn't really one of them.

"Yes, I did," he says, "I don't really use them anymore, so why let them go to waste? Besides, my grandson's coming in a few days to help me clean out, so I really have nowhere to put them."

I nod in understanding, before looking back to Josie and wrapping my arms around her back, my hands coming to the back of her neck. I tell her to go get her things, and us two watch her run forth into the house, Venetian blonde curls bouncing. Mr. Frost sticks his hands in his pockets.

"She's a good girl, that one," he says, "Definitely a fighter, especially with her father passing."

"Yeah, she is," I say fondly.

"Which is why it's important _you_ shape up," he suddenly says sharply, whipping his head around and giving me a hard glare, "How that girl can be so positive being around such a downer like you is beyond me."

I furrow my brows, "E-Excuse me?!"

"You heard me, boy. As her brother, Josephine looks to you for guidance, and with all that's happened, she's going to look for your help more than ever figuring things out. How the hell do you expect her to get better when you mopin' all the time?!"

God, do I just want to punch this guy in the dick sometimes. Who the hell does he think he is? If there's one thing I don't need, it's people trying to tell me how to raise my sister. I know I have problems emotionally and I'm definitely fucked up in the head somewhat still, but I am a damn good brother to Josie and screw anyone who tries to say otherwise.

"M-Mr. Frost, I'm not-"

"There ya go again, stutterin' all over your words like some scared little schoolgirl! Speak up already!"

I clench my fists. God, I hate the way he looks down his crooked ass nose through his stupid little glasses. I have a half a mind to just clock him, wipe that stupid look off his ugly face.

"I'm trying," I mumble, quiet as a doormouse.

Mr. Frost steps forward, poking me in the chest with the butt end of his cane, "Well, then you need to try harder! Believe me, boy, I've been in that position before. I know exactly how ya feel- I felt it every day the first two years when my Rosalynn passed on- but this ain't just about you! Josie needs you, your mom needs you, and we both know you can't be doing much if you're always walking around with a raincloud over your head!"

 _Fuck you_ , I growl, gritting my teeth.

A small part of me tries to reason that this nippiness of Mr. Frost is just him being a product of his time, and that his brash brushing off my depression is a result of the hardening shell of his past military service- the dude is a Korean War veteran, after all- but the bigger part of me can only feel harsh, black hatred. He doesn't have any idea what I've been through. He doesn't know jack shit what it's been like for me. Mrs. Frost- may she rest in peace- died peacefully in her sleep of a hard attack while she was in being cared for in a living facility due to Alzheimer's. He didn't have to watch her die, didn't have to see her struggle in pain while she choked on her own blood, didn't have to know the agony of being trapped and not knowing what to do, only knowing cold terror and helplessness while struggling with his own pain.

He has no _fucking_ clue.

My silence only makes his anger boil more, "There ya go, off in Lala-land again! Gaelin Killough, have you heard anything I've just said?! Answer me!"

He's waving his cane at me. I want to rip it out of his hands and just bash his brains in. Shove his head through these rotten old floorboards-

"Gaeley, I'm ready!" Josephine calls as she skips outside, her backpack sitting on her shoulders and wrapped in her green and blue coat. A mittened hand takes mine and warms my fingers. I snap out of m y staring match with Mr. Frost to give her a half smile, trying to repress the rage boiling in my chest.

"Great! Let's get you home, shall we?" I playfully ask as we take down, taking a moment to look over my shoulder, seeing Mr. Frost still standing there, meeting my gaze with his cold brown eyes.

Fuck him. What the hell does he know? He's lucky- he's a decorated war hero, he married a wonderful woman and had a ton of kids and they lived happily ever after until her death and is still alive and for the most part well as eighty-five years old. He got to live the American dream that my dad always wished for. My dad will _never_ get that chance. No, he died too young and had to live his last moments with a shredded piece of metal having ripped his throat open. Mr. Frost is fucking full of it.

Everyone's full of it.

* * *

The weekend goes by all too fast and I'm back at school, bored out of my mind. Mr. Ramirez drags on his lecture about the importance of opening up relations to Cuba. I doodle in my notebook, drawing random sketches of girls and boys.

I've been having this strange feeling lately; I don't know if it's caused by the puppets now being active or what, but I've realized I'm getting a bit of motivation to start doing dollwork again. Not to say that it's gonna be anything big or fantastic coming any time soon, but I realized I've been doing little things that make want to start on it again- sketching designs in my sketchbook (which lay abandoned on my desk for months on end), looking through my old fabric sheets to see what I could work with, piecing together my doll parts to see what combination of limbs goes best. Maybe I show try making one more on the traditional side, a more Victorian looking doll. I think of maybe trying the challenge of something new, maybe getting a bit more on the macabre side and making one a little more monster-esque, maybe as a tribute to the puppets.

I'm snapped out of my thoughts, amazingly being distracted enough for the class to finally reach the bell. Thank lord almighty. I gather up my things, but before I can leave, I feel a hand on my shoulder.

"Gaelin?"

My pulse races. It's Audrey.

Swallowing the nervous lump in my throat and trying to maintain my composure, I turn to her. She's dressed in this fishnet shirt that lets the tattoos on her chest be shown over this black tanktop that really shows off her chest- oh Jesus, I sound like a prepubescent schoolboy!

"Y-yes?"

"I was wondering if there was any chance we'd be able to meet up this week? We have to clarify on Thursday what our topic will be, so I was thinking maybe you and I could get together, maybe at the library? You know, just to see what subject will be easiest for us to piece together?" She explains, those golden eyes searching for answer.

At the moment, all I hear is the the words 'you and I get together', and my hormones-driven brain registers it like she's asking me out on a date.

"Sure!" I say with way too much excitment, before going red in the face when Audrey gives me a strange look, coughing to try and subdue my voice, "Oh, y-yeah that sounds good."

She smiles; gosh, she has such a lovely smile, "Great! Hear, I'll give you my number so we can figure out when's the best time to meet up!"

I nod, too frozen in the fact that Audrey is giving me her number, letting her write it on my hand in her small, dainty print, before I give her the same. Audrey looks at my number, a smirk crossing her face as she puts her bag over her shoulder.

"Good, so I'll call you tonight, and see where we can go from there," she comments.

"Sounds like a plan!"

"Have a good day, Gaelin," she says over her shoulder as she finally leaves the room.

As I walk to my locker, I have this unfamiliar feeling inside. I can feel myself smiling, and there's this nice warm, bubbly feeling in my chest. I'm partners with Audrey. _I'm partners with Audrey._ And she actually smiled at me! As I put my things in my locker and switch out notebooks, it's like for a moment all the bad stuff has been swept under the rug for the moment. It's a really nice feeling, and I actually for a second hope for it to last.

"Aw, did you see the look he gave her?"

"Yeah, our little Paleline is totes in love!"

Aaaand just like that, it's gone.

My science book is in a death grip as I slowly turn around, finding Sadie and Kailani 'totes' too close to me. They're both wearing the same shit-eating grin, not saying anything. I roll my eyes, knowing that I'm in for it.

I look at both of them, before huffing, "What do you want?"

"Oh, don't be so cold, Gaelin! We saw the way you were looking at dear little Audrey! Why, I'm hurt you didn't tell us sooner about your girlfriend sooner!"

Aw, great. I hug my book to my chest, backing up in the locker. I mumble, "Audrey's n-not my girlfriend."

"Oh, that's a shame," Sadie pouts, slithering up to me like a snake, "Because I see the way you look at her. You totally want to see what's underneath those frumpy black clothes of her."

I face burns, "That's not-"

"You totally want to see just see all that luscious pale skin...feel those nice plump lips on yours and other places...run your hands over those smooth, pale legs and her toned thighs..." she narrates.

I must look sunburn, my face feels so red, and it suddenly starts feeling way too hot. Sadie comes over, running her finger down my chest and sending a wave of goosebumps everywhere. She whispers in my ear, her eyes unreadable, makes my ears and...other areas start to burn.

"You can't help but wonder what sounds she's capable of making...the looks she must make when she's turned on...how you can make her make those sounds..."

My throat feels dry.

Sadie's smile grows cold, "Though it's only natural, freak attracted to freak. You two make the perfect loser couple."

The heat stops, thankfully, but is quickly replaced with cold dread and the same blackness as before. Of course there's a catch to her words. There's always is. I don't know why I still haven't learned this.

Kailani chuckles, "Oh my god, I think he's got an erection! What a perv!"

I bury my chin into my neck, trying to control my temper, though it flares when Holden, of course, just happens to appear.

"I wouldn't worry about it. With a prick that small, he wouldn't be able to even stick it in there!" He sniggers, earning a great big laugh from the group, like I'm not even there.

Contrary to what everyone thinks, I'm actually not a virgin and actually do have some experience in the field of sexual activity. But that's not important. What's important is the fact that now it's apparently the most important subject in the world to Kailani, Holden and Sadie for some reason.

"Does he even know how to use it?"

"Probably not! Except for wanking it against his pillow, of course!"

It would be so easy to just grab his head and slam him against the locker. To hit Kailani with my book, throw her to the ground and really give her a piece of my mind. Fucking bitch. That would show them who they're really messing with.

There's nothing more than to see them bleed.

Something to show them, to make them think again.

But of course, I just stay quiet. I shove past the three of them, ignoring their jabbering calls of 'Oh, don't be so hurt! We're only joking', speed walking to science.

I can't stand them. They never leave me alone. I can't take it. The namecalling, the teasing, the fact they're ALWAYS fucking touching me. Kailani's the worst.

The black feeling is still there, simmering and boiling. Only this time, unlike any other day, it doesn't go away. It only settles down, waiting there, waiting for the next worst thing to happen.

* * *

"I swear, it seems like you guys are the only highlight to my day lately," I comment as I feel Jester sit in my shoulder, watching me as I try to figure out how to answer this English question. Leech Woman sits to my right, legs stretched out in front of her as she fondles with a pencil.

The conversation from earlier still nags at the back of my head, though now it's dimmed down to a tiny flame of annoyance. I get Mr. Frost has seen many things, but that doesn't mean he has to be such a dick about it. I don't even get why its just towards me he seems to do this with. I've never said or done anything to get on his bad side, at least not intentionally.

There's a tugging on my pant leg and I look down to see Tunneler holding up a book. _Strange Happenings: Myths and Legends From Around the World_ is what the title reads. Mom bought it for me in seventh grade as a birthday present, back when I was obsessed with cryptozoology and wanted to know all the secrets of the planet. Sadly, it's been sitting on the bottom of my bookshelf collecting on dust for the last few years.

Tunneler, however, seems absolutely taken in by it, based on the way he's jumping up and down, waving it at me like it's the holy grail. "What, what is it?"

He just waves it around, and I pick him and it up and place them in front of me.

"Okay, okay, calm down, buddy! What's the big deal with this?" I ask, gesturing to the book.

Tunneler just continues to point at it, and I set it down to allow him to rapidly flip through the pages, until he stops on one and points at it like a maniac. I look down.

It's in the section dealing with Egyptian folklore. The picture to illustrate the passage is a tanned man with a black animal's head in place of a human one, holding an ankh in his left hand.

 _Sutekh: God of Chaos, Bringer of Darkness_

 _Also known as Set or Seth, the lord of the red desert is a name that brings chills to all who know of him, as they should. With a heart of black, Sutekh spares no one in his lust for power, going so far as to kill and mutilate his own brother, the god Osiris._

 _It is said that Sutekh also carries with him the secret to eternal life, and will rise once every thousand years, bringing with him the twelve plagues of Egypt to inflict further discord upon the world. It is only this secret of life that can help bring him down._

 _However, such power is not meant to be thrusted upon mortal hands, and many who have tried to claim this power have fallen victim to Sutekh's mightiest servants: the small but deadly Totems- avatars of punishment who inflict horrendous torture upon those who try to pry into the secrets of their world and their magic._

Rereading the passage, I look back at Tunneler with a skeptical look.

"Are you saying this is how you guys came to life? Some demon's magic?" I ask doubtfully.

Tunneler nods, pointing erratically at a picture of the so-called 'totem'; it's an ugly little thing, only about the size of a paper towel roo, with a helmet like face, claws, and sharp teeth that make it look like some sort of mutated Bionicle.

"What? You've actually seen these things?"

He nods again, folding his arms like he's pretty proud of himself. It sounds pretty preposterous doubting them, especially since I've seen first hand the strangest mystery since they're now here up and moving, but still. An Egyptian god with small little gnomes who somehow lost the secret to eternal life and that seemingly lives on in wooden puppets? That's all a bit too outrageous.

Though I do wonder. I look back to the journal. The first entries talk about someone by the name of Afzel, who was apparently the one to teach Toulon how to bring the puppets to life.

I'm getting the feeling there's so much more I don't know.

Whether it's good or bad, I can't tell.

And I'm not sure I want to know.


	13. A False Scare

**Chapter XII: A False Scare**

 _Bzzt! Bzzt!_

I look over from at my phone, stretching from my position on my bed to retrieve it from my nightstand.

It's a movie night of some sorts, if you want to call it that; the puppets were going crazy and wanting me to show them how the TV worked, so I turned it on, flicking channels until their eyes got glued to a showing of _Killer Klowns from Outer Space_. It's cheesy and stupid, but hey, it was either B-movie alien clowns melting people with pies, or having all of them break the television by trying to take it apart to figure out how it worked.

I read over the message.

 _Audrey: Hey! So I'm free after school if you want to meet up then to figure out our subject :)_

I smile.

 _Gaelin: Sounds like a plan; just give me a few seconds to get my materials_

 _Audrey: Great! TTYL Have a good night_

It's horrifically embarrassing that I blush like some sort of awkward schoolgirl when I see her response. Get it together, man!

A tap on my shoulder turns my attention to Pinhead, his other hand pointing at my phone, his one eye looking to me for answers.

"Oh, this?" I ask, "It's a smart phone. So, instead of just calling someone, you can send them messages. See, you just click on this button-"

Pinhead suddenly freezes in mid-air, and I shoot him a look. He looks like he's suddenly grow stiff.

"Pin?" I ask, nudging his big beefy arm, "You all right?"

As if time suddenly begins again, he resumes, giving me a nod before turning his attention back to my phone. However, I notice his movements are a lot more rigid, like he's restricted to a certain amount of movement.

That's...weird.

He doesn't seem to be bothered by it though, so I let it go, resuming my explaining of the wonders of twenty-first century technology to him like I'd explain using a mouse to my grandfather.

* * *

The day goes fast, thankfully, and before I know it, I'm sitting in the library, anxiously waiting for Audrey. I fiddle with my pencil, Mr. Ramirez's choice sheet and paper laid neatly out in front of me, having been rearranged several different times due to frazzled nerves.

I look at the clock. The bell rang five minutes ago. Where is she?

Okay, maybe she just needed to get her things. Maybe she got stuck having to talk to a teacher. It's only been five minutes, no big deal.

 _Or maybe she flaked out on you_ , something in my head sniggers.

Something tugs in my rib cage, and the thought actually makes me really upset. I hope Audrey isn't like that.

"Hey, sorry I'm late!" A voice suddenly chirps from behind. I look up.

She's standing nearby, blushing and smiling apologetically. She's wearing this necklace that has a bunch of silver skulls on it that are almost blinding under the lights of the library.

I smile really big, glad that my thoughts weren't true, "No, it's okay! I'm really glad you showed."

"Well, yeah, of course I did," Audrey replies, sliding in the seat next to me, "I mean, it's be kinda weird if I bailed on the place I suggested, wouldn't it?"

Then I realize what I just said, and I suddenly want to crawl in a hole, "Oh...yeah, y-you're right."

Audrey doesn't seem to notice, taking out her binder and flipping through the pages.

"Okay, so I did some mini-research on the topics suggested," she explains, "And I think that our best chance would be looking at something and mirroring it to recent events. You know, kinda the whole 'history-repeats-itself' sort of deal. Especially if it's something everyone knows about."

I nod, looking at the notes she's written down. We analyze all the ones Ramirez has suggested, picking out the strong and weak points of each- whether one's too general, if we'd be able to explain its historic impact in enough detail, the probability of which are the most easiest to do and will most likely already be taken.

"What about this one?" I suggest, "The handling of the Spanish flu as a mirror to the Ebola outbreak? We could explain the problem with media sensationalism and how travel bans continue to be ineffective."

Audrey counters, "I don't know. Seems a bit too scientific, don't you think? Then we'd have to explain the reasoning they don't work, the psychology and everything. Feels more like a chemistry argument than a historical one."

My eyes scan over the page, and I start to feel a little disheartened. I didn't think picking a subject would be this hard. If it's this difficult just deciding what to write about, I dread when the time comes to actually do the research.

"Hold on, what about this?" I ask, pointing to one handwritten prompt, "Wyman's argument? That's the one about how he argued how the states refused to help Jewish refugees during the war, right? That one could really work."

"You think?" Audrey asks, "I thought it'd be a bit hard, since when I looked it up, it sounded more like a theory than actual fact."

"Actually, it's very much plausible to this day," I say, "See, Wyman argued about how the US did nothing to help the Jews, right? Well, he argued how they did this because many came up with this ridiculous theory that most of the refugees were Nazi spies. If we take that concept, we could use it to also connect this thought with the internment of Japanese Americans, because after Pearl Harbor, those same people thought they could be spies for the Axis. And look at this: ' _actors hampered (rescue) ... anti-Semitism and anti-immigration attitudes, ... entrenched in Congress; the mass medias's failure ... near silence of the Christian churches and almost all of their leadership'_ You can see that stuff right now with the elections. After Paris and Belgium, people were all talking about refusing the Syrian refugees because of a fear they were all radicalists working for ISIS because the terrorists behind the attacks were, even though the latter were all legal European citizens born and raised there..."

Audrey nods, and we get into discussing how there's also a drawn parallel to the complaints of immigrants from Mexico crossing the boarder. We make a rough draft outline of what to talk about and how to introduce it, organizing our examples into boxes of three points, making arrows into how each point should be introduced and who should talk about what.

"My pen's almost dead," Audrey says, "Do you have an extra?"

"Sure, let me get it," I say, reaching into my bag to dig around for one.

That's strange, it's really hard to move everything around. Aside from a few papers, it shouldn't be this disorganized and crowded.

Huh, that's weird. I feel my hand glide over something smooth, something with a wood-like texture. I don't know why anything of the sort would be in there-

Suddenly, I come face to face with Jester's tiny head, his round blue eyes staring at me.

I freeze.

Jester is in my bag. My bag is with me. I'm outside of my room. Which means Jester is outside of my room. Which is not supposed to happen.

I look over my shoulder to Audrey. She's shaking her pen, trying to write out what she needs with the last bit of ink that may still be in there.

I whip my head back to my bag. _What are you doing in here?!_ I mouth to Jester, brows furrowed in anger. Jester tries to coo, to climb out of the bag, but I put my fingers around his shoulder and force him back.

"Is...something wrong, dude?" Audrey asks.

"No, no, sorry, just a lot of crap I need to get rid of," I mumble through gritted teeth, giving Jester a death glare as I finally find the damned pen.

He tries to climb out again, but I zip it all the way up. I can't believe this is happening. I give Audrey the pen, trying to remain calm- pretty hard when there's a giant hurricane building inside. She seems to notice my demeanor and raises an eyebrow. "You sure you're okay?"

"Yeah, I just, uh, got a little stomachache, is all."

Audrey gives me the same look I've seen Mom give- that side eyed stare with one brow raised in doubt, the corner of her mouth looking like someone's pulling down on it. She shakes her head, though, looking down at her watch.

"Oh, shit, it's four already? Sorry, I promised my mom I'd take the dogs out before she got home," she explains as she starts shoving things in her messenger bag.

I gather up my own bag. Audrey whirls around, holding my pen out.

"Thank you, by the way," she says.

"Oh, f-for what?" I ask as I take it from her.

"For meeting me," she says with a smile.

She's wearing this dark red lipstick that really compliments her hair; it's tied up in this messy bun that exposes her ears. She has in these silver dangle earrings that have these black rhinestones in them with batwings on the sides. She looks absolutely gorgeous.

My heart is doing that stupid thing again, where it beats up.

Dammit, quit staring!

"Uh, y-you're welcome, I'm always glad to go out on a date- I mean a day! Go out on a day!" I stutter, feeling like a total loser.

Audrey just smiles as she starts walking, waving goodbye over her shoulder. I wave back slowly, watching her disappear around the corner.

Then it all turns sour when I look at my back, unzipping it a tiny bit and glaring at Jester.

"You guys are in _so_ much trouble," I hiss.

* * *

"So what was this, huh? Some kind of sneak out attempt? What, you were going to go exploring, thinking I wasn't going to notice?" I question as I stomp in the room, holding Jester around his waist.

The puppets are all sitting on my bed, gathered in a circle. They all look to me. I put Jester down beside them and look down at them with my arms crossed.

"I can't believe you guys disobeyed me! And don't act like Jester was acting alone!" I yell, "Do you know how much danger you guys put yourselves in?!..Oh, don't you play dumb with me, you knew exactly what you were trying!"

Jester has his sad expression on, but it barely soothes my mood. Am I angry? You bet your ass. But if I'm completely honest, I'm more scared and panicked than anything. A thousand different scenarios play through my mind: What if I lost my bag, or someone had stolen it? What if someone rifled through it and discovered them? Then they'd be destroyed, or worse, separated, maybe sold for some high price while I would have no clue on even where to start to find them. I get a feeling this is how Mom felt that time I was seven and I decided to sneak off into the woods when she left me alone in the backyard to finish laundry for a minute.

"Oh, save that pity face, 'cause it's not going to work on me! I mean, what the hell were you guys thinking?! And not even letting me know? I know being in here must suck and it gets boring, but you have no right to just mess with my things like that!"

They're all twitching and jerking around, pointing at something behind me. They're slowly lying down, like...like they're in pain. Blade keeps jerking his knife hand at my left, and that's when I realize something's off.

"What are you all...hey, g-guys? Are you all right?" I ask.

They...they all look like they're seizing. They shake and vibrate and thrash around like they're in pain. Something drops into the pit of my stomach and all previous thought of anger goes out the window. I rush to the puppets, trying to figure out what's wrong.

"Guys, guys! Can you hear me?! What's going on?!"

Tunneler and Six Shooter suddenly stop moving, and I get a giant lump in my throat.

"Jester? Leech? Torch?! Anybody?! Please hang on!"

If they can still hear me, they don't make it known. They keep on shaking. They look like they're in pain, and I feel so helpless. I don't know what to do. I try touching each of them, letting them know I'm here. My chest feels like it's about to break apart, and it deemly registers I'm having a panic attack.

They're all starting to lessen on their movements. Pinhead's hands slowly sink down to the mattress like he's lost all strength, Leech Woman sounds like she's gurgling before it slows to silence.

"No, no, no, no!" I sob, stuck.

This can't be happening again.

Please, don't let me lose my puppets.

Please don't make lose anyone else I care about.

Suddenly, I feel a harsh tapping on my elbow. Blade's hitting me with his hook hand, his knife hand- while shaking and looking like he can barely hold it up- is still pointing to something at my left. I force myself to look away from the puppets, looking over my shoulder to the desk.

On it is the vial of the green stuff.

For a second, I have no idea what that means. Then it clicks. The serum. They need the serum!

I almost break my ankle falling over my desk chair to get to it, trying to ignore the shooting pain that erupts from my palm when I grab for the needle the wrong way and stab myself in the hand. My hands are shaking really badly. I miss five times before I finally get the needle point into the cap, yanking the plunger up until half the serum is gone out of the bottle. I dash over to the puppets, throwing them onto the backs and stabbing them in the necks, not taking note of nor caring how much of the serum I give each of them. I just make sure they each get it. Hopefully it's enough.

"Please, please, please work," I whisper desperately.

Please work. Please help my puppets.

They're all still.

Then, they each sit up slowly, like they've just woken up.

I let out a breath I didn't even realize I'd been holding, letting the syringe fall onto the carpet and sitting back my hands, ignoring the dull ache in my palm. I'm still really shaken from it all.

Okay, so the fluid doesn't last forever. Good to note.

"Are...are you guys okay?" I question, hating how shaky my voice is.

They all look at each other. Jester's head spins, taking the sad expression off and replacing it with his familiar smirk. Blade tips his hat at me, while Pinhead simply nods.

I don't know why, but the simple expressions of reassurance are enough to make me lose it. I let loose a sob and gather them all up in my arms, cradling them like I used to Josie when she was younger, stroking their heads. For a moment we just sit there. It isn't until I feel a small fist banging into my arm- I'm pretty sure it's Torch- that I realize the puppets must be really uncomfortable.

"S-sorry about that," I say as I let them go, backing up to look all of them in the eye, "It didn't say anything, um, i-i-in the journal about needing more, so, I-I t-thought you were gonna..."

I get cut off at the feel of Leech Woman's small hand on mine. I look towards her, at those tiny black eyes outlined in blue and pink, her little red mouth tilted up in a small smile. It's almost enough to make me start bawling again.

I love my puppets.

I can't bear to think of what would happen if something happened to them. If something horrible happened and they got lost or broken, I'd don't think I could handle it. I'd lose it.

Hopefully, that never happens.


	14. The Final Straw

**Chapter XIII: The Final Straw**

"And 's grandson is really nice, and his name is Isaac, and he lives in Sacramento, and he collects gemstones! Ooh, and he offered to give me some of them! And he has a puppy and three cats, and a hamster, and..!"

I smile at her, though I've since drowned out Josie's rambling, as she tends to get more pumped and hyper than a hamster in its wheel when she gets on something she really likes. But it is adorable watching how bright eyed she is as she's explaining it to Paul, her fists clenched in excitement and her smile round and pink. I look at the time. Crap, it's already 7:10.

"Oh, looks like I have to get going," I say as I pick up my bag. It's feeling really heavy again. I would've taken some of the stuff out, but I lost track of time dozing in the shower and had to rush to get my clothes picked out, so I'll just have to get to school in time to relieve myself of the dead weight.

"Already?" Mom says, "You've barely touched your food."

I look down at my plate. Save for a few bites and sips, my apple juice is still pretty full and my toast is still there, my scrambled eggs only picked at.

"I'm not very hungry," I say quickly as I gather up my things.

I know that's another sign to Mom, but I really don't have time for her to dwell on it and try and get me to open up. I put my arms through the straps and hurry out the door before she tries to ask me if I want something to take to school, speedwalking through the neighborhood. On the way I think back to what happened a few nights ago.

There's not much serum left. And from what I observed, the puppets seem to need it for as much time as equates to how much they're given. The puppet with the metal head seems to have to be given it in a different way that I have yet to figure out, but even excluding him, that's still seven puppets relying on just one bottle. And Toulon sure as hell didn't explain how to make more of it- though you can't blame the guy. Writing down the secret to eternal life has a habit of turning up in the wrong places. But without knowing how to make more, there's only about six months worth of serum left.

The thought almost brings me to tears. My poor puppets. Who knows how long they were left in that trunk, who knows what kind of person they were left with before I found them? And then, right when they're just starting to get their lives back, they're back to gathering dust again.

I'm a bit out of breath and my legs are starting to hurt by the time I get through the front doors, but I try to focus only on switching out my books and papers before the warning bell rings, since it takes a few minutes to get from my locker to English. Yanking the door open, I I place my bag on the ledge and zip it open.

And out pops Blade's head.

For a moment, I'm so startled I almost drop the bag, but luckily I grab it before it falls to the ground, though I can feel people shooting me glares as they pass by. I open up the zipper a bit, staring in as Blade's hollow black ones look back. I blink, desperately hoping that it's nothing but a hallucination. But no, he's there, little white head and black hat looking up from the zipper like a nosy cat.

Then, to my horror, I see black painted hands grab the zipper, and out pops Six Shooter's ten gallon hat wearing face.

 _Are you shitting me right now?!_ I mentally scream, though I only glare at them with wide eyes. Six Shooter makes a move to start climbing out, but I shove their heads back in and zip up my bag fast, hoping nobody is staring at me for too long. I can see them start to fumble in it, but I tap the sides.

"Quit it," I hiss.

 _BRRRRRRNNNNG_

Dammit, that was the bell.

Pushing the anxiety that instantly spills out from my mind at the thought that, yet again, two of the puppets are not in the room like they are supposed to be, and again, are at risk of getting lost or damaged, I pick up the pace, rushing to first period before I risk getting detention.

I can't focus. I try to focus on the board and listen in on whatever Mr. Petinsky is yapping about- something about Ray Bradbury and the death of science fiction as we know it- but my eyes keep betraying me, tearing away to look down at my bag. Little lumps are appearing in the sides, probably from Blade and Six Shooter trying to find a way out. I can't help but glance around the room, nervously wondering if anyone else can see or hear them.

Terror fills me when I start to see the zipper move by itself; the little band attached to it is being tugged on from the inside, and to my horror I start to see a tiny hook emerge from the mouth-

I grab the zipper band and harshly pull on it to close the bag again. Unfortunately, the zipper makes a loud _ZZZRRRR_ that immediately draws attention to everyone in class. Instantly, everyone's looking at me like I've just declared the Four Horsemen are coming.

"Mr. Killough, is there something of concern that needs to be addressed?" Mr. Petinsky asks, annoyed.

I bite my lip in embarrassment, turning red under the feel of everyone looking at me. I lower my head, "N-no, sir."

"Good. Then I do suggest you pay attention. Unless you feel free to share whatever you're hiding with the class."

I sink into my seat, humiliated. My eyes trail back to the bag. They've gone still. Hopefully they've realized that I mean business. Still, it doesn't little to calm my nerves. Not even seeing Audrey once thir d period comes around helps the matter. She gives me a smile as she drops her purse down next to the chair, plopping in the seat next to me, "Hey, how are you doing?"

"Oh, good. A little tired."

"Yeah, me too. At least it's Friday, right?"

I smile a half smile, "Yeah."

"Aw, how sweet," A familiar raspy voice comes from the side like nails on a chalkboard.

I grit my teeth, looking to the side, and sure enough, Kailani is standing over us, gazing down with that same condescending shit-eating grin. Audrey and I glare at her, but she just brushes it off, walking over and wrapping her arms around my neck, resting her chin on top of my head. I bristle at the unwanted touching, but she only wraps tighter around me when I try to pull away, so I can't do anything else but grit my teeth and wait for her to get away.

"It's so romantic, you two working together, isn't it? I always knew you were a freaky boy, Gaelin, but to get to hook up with the Elvira reject? You must be creaming your jeans right as we speak!" Kailani continues to mock, my face going bright red at her comment.

I hear Audrey snarl beside me, "Why don't you just fuck off and leave us be for once?"

"And why should I, _Ughdrey_? Scared I'm going to run and tell the school of you two and your little loveboat?"

"It's 'Audrey'", she growls back, "And no I'm not, considering there's nothing going on between us."

Kailani only smiles, "Oh, I see, your scared I'm gonna run off with your sideshow boy toy. Don't worry, he's not my type."

"Oh, I know," Audrey says, "You only like the inbred donkeys with rotten teeth. Hey, in fact, I think I saw one when he was asking for change behind Wal-Mart. I'll be sure to give him your number if you're interested."

That actually makes me chuckle- damn, who knew Audrey had it in her- but it's cut off when Kailani pinches my ear and yanks on it. Shoving me forward, she and Audrey glare at each other, "Whatever, Ughdrey. By the way, you should ask Gaelin on his little diary of French sex secrets. You could be able to give him some practice."

My bite into my lip so hard I can taste blood. Just go away for once, Kailani. Go away and leave me alone.

"In fact, here, let show you-"

To my horror, I realize she's leaning down towards my bag, her hand already on the zipper. It's already starting to come undone, and I'm mortified to see a shock of white hair start to reveal itself in the bag. Every rational thought goes out the window as I snap and rip my bag away from her, shoving her hand away.

"Don't touch that!" I yell way too loudly.

I cradle my bag to my chest, glaring at her. Only then do I realize that all eyes are now on me. Everyone's silent, eyes wide. Audrey has her brows raised, her mouth open a little. Even Kailani is staring at me in shock, her hand to her chest like I've just burned it. I've never raised my voice to Kailani. As far as anyone knows, I've never raised my voice at all. However, the shock quickly comes replaced with disgust, and Kailani puts her palm to her collarbones like I'm a leper.

"Whatever, freak," she bites. She turns away, marching back to her seat. I can see Holden and Tony shaking their heads, mouths in grimace. I turn away.

They don't know me. They don't know anything.

I feel a soft hand on my arm, and turn to see Audrey still looking, her eyes now holding something else besides surprise.

"Are you all right?" she asks, but then adds to it like she realizes how dumb it sounds.

"I mean, why do you let them walk all over you like that?"

"It's not like I want them to," I try to defend, still holding my bag. I can feel Blade and Six Shooter moving around again, pressing against my hands.

"I just...I'm tired."

It's not a good answer, but Audrey seems to understand. She nods her head, looking back at their group in annoyance before squeezing my shoulder.

"Gaelin...if you ever need to talk to someone, you know, about..anything, you can come find me, okay? My phone's always on. Just call me and I'll be there, I promise."

I nod, though I have no intention of doing that. She means well, but she doesn't know what she's asking. Anyway, I have bigger problems to attend to than my own self loathing at the moment.

The minute the bell rings for lunch, I run out of the classroom to the nearest bathroom. Trying to not run into anyone, I mutter quick apologies when I bump shoulders, racing to the one at the end of the hall. This one is known for the toilets always clogging, and the never ending smell of ammonia- the janitors have scrubbed the floor dozens of times, but rumor has it someone with really good aim was able to get piss on the ceilings, also hence their strange discoloration- so not many people use it. Flinging the door open, I rush over the handicapped stall, taking extra precaution and locking the stall door. Dropping my bag from my shoulder, I plop it on the seat and tear both zippers, and once again, Blade and Six Shooter pop out like little weasels, just looking at me.

I stare at both of them. I can feel my nostrils flare.

"What," I just say, "Do you. Think. You're doing?!"

Before they open their mouths to say something- or hiss their noises- there's a bit rumbling around, and Blade suddenly falls back into the bag, only to reemerge a second later with a third person in tow. Pinhead.

"Oh, great, now he's here too!" I exclaim, "Blade, Six, Pin, _what_ are you three doing here?"

Blade hisses, his long mouth opening as he gestures with his hands.

"You know, I would've expected this from Torch, but you three, I must say, I am surprised," I hammer away, "I specifically told you guys to stay in the room. That going outside is dangerous if I'm not there. And what do you do? You do the complete opposite and sneak out! Twice!"

Pinhead grumbles.

"Oh, no! I don't even want to hear it! Yesterday, okay, yesterday was understandable because you guys were sick. I get that, that was important. Risks had to be taken. But there's no excuse now! And to make it worse, you almost exposed yourselves twice! Do you have any idea how dangerous that is?!"

Six Shooter moans, his six arms waving around as he gestures to Pinhead and Blade, the two looking back at him before looking back at me, heads shaking in protest.

"Oh, what, you tried to stop them?!" He nods, "Oh, bullshit! You wanted to come along just as much as they did! What do you have to say for yourselves?!"

They all look down, presumably on what they're standing on.

"What, what is it?" I ask as I reach into the bag, feeling around to see what the big deal is.

I feel limbs. And fabric. And some sort of fibers. Curly fibers. I feel my eyes scrunch up in confusion, before it dawns on me, and let's just say my mood isn't lessened when I yank out the mysterious object, which turns out to be Goselyn, who's looking a little more than rattled with her now messy hair and wrinkled dress.

"What is... what is she doing in here?!" I ask, holding her out in front of me.

"Are you three kidding me right now? First, you disobey me, _again,_ and now you took her with you?! Now you're gonna try and damage the others?!"

Pinhead holds his hands out in front of him, gesturing to Goselyn, before putting the tips of his left fingers on the palm of his right, tilting them to the left, indicating a falling gesture.

"What, you're saying you fell in and she just went in with you? Get real! Like I'd believe that!"

Blade holds up his hook, looking like he's looking over my shoulder, but I hold out a hand before he can say...erm, hiss, anything.

"No, I don't want to hear anymore. You guys broke the rules and now, you even took Goselyn and put her in as much danger as getting damaged as yourselves. _You_ are all going to stay in there, and you will not, and I mean, WILL NOT make a sound until I give the all clear. Which," I scold as I look at my watch, "isn't going to be for another four hours. What happens when we get home, I don't know."

I push on their heads until they simmer back down in the bag, where they won't be seen. I try to fix Goselyn's pigtails as much as I can, but it's not much good; she's going to need a good long brushing from a nice horsehair brush. I smooth her hair down and place her on top of the boys. Hopefully with her weight, they won't fidget as much. I zip up the bag, putting it back over my shoulder.

Lunch is halfway over when I finally exit the bathroom, so I have to rely on the vending machines, fishing a bottle of Cherry Coke and a bag of cookies for myself before trying to find a place in the cafeteria where I can snack in peace.

"Oi, Killough, over here."

I look to the source. Everyone at the goth table is looking at me. Virgil Berringwood is the source of the calling, his dark hand nonchalantly waving me over. Audrey is sitting next to him, and she flashes me a smile as she waves her hand to try and further convince me. Looking around and deciding I don't have anything to lose, I plop down next to them.

It's weird talking with them. Audrey's obviously the one to convince them to invite me over, so she's really the only one to try and engage me in conversation; the others just kind of acknowledge my presence, but carry on like I'm not there. I feel bad for making it so awkward, but I've never been good at small talk. Though they actually talk quite a lot among themselves. And contrary to the films, they don't talk about death and how much they hate the world and all that spiel. All of them are actually quite upbeat.

But then I get this feeling. Like I'm being watched.

Peeking over my shoulder, I scan the cafeteria. Everyone's minding their own business, no one giving a care in the world about the ragtag group of kids dressed in black.

Then I see Kailani staring right at me.

I hold her gaze. Holden's whispering something to her, he's also looking at me. Kailani's eyes widen before she scoffs, and gives me the most bone chilling smile I've ever seen. Unease ripens in my stomach, blooming across my body as my palms start to sweat. What are they up to now?

"Is something wrong, Gaelin?" Audrey asks beside me.

I look to her, before peeking back over to Kailani and Holden. They're talking to Tony and Sadie now, the four of them cackling like a bunch of hyenas. My gut tells me they're planning something, but the last thing I want is to cause a scene.

"Yeah...just fine."

* * *

The final bell rings right as Mrs. Dwight's in the middle of explaining Pythagorean identities, and like I, most of the kids are not hesitant in throwing their things together and trying to make it out at the door as fast as they can. Mrs. Dwight tries to hold the class together by shouting the same old 'the bell doesn't dismiss you, I do' speech, but the hype of the incoming weekend and the anxiety of school getting done for the day proves much more powerful, and before she can even get the third word out, three fourths of the class is already in the hallway.

Shoving my textbooks in, I blow out a breath. The boys have so far obeyed me in staying still through the rest of class, but I won't feel relaxed until I'm yards away from the building. I adjust the straps on my backpack; you'd think they wouldn't weigh much, but the three of them plus Goselyn makes it feel like I put three bricks in back.

"Heeeeeey, Gaelin!"

Kailani. Fuck.

Dropping my head, I slam my locker shut and turn around to face her. Her and Holden are standing right in front of me. Kailani has her hands behind her back, feigning innocence, but Holden has one hand in his pocket, looking at me like he wants to shove me in the locker.

I'm definitely not in the mood for this, so I just ask, "What do you want?"

"Aw, don't be so cold, Gaeley," Kailani coos as she strolls up to me, walking around me like a hungry orca circling a stranded sea lion, "We just want to talk."

That's code for give me a harder time.

"You see, I've thought about what happened in third period earlier. And I just want to apologize," she stops in front of me, jutting in lip out in a small pout, "I know that you're a very private person, but I simply assumed you needed a little help spicing things up."

I stare at her. I don't have time for this.

Her smile grows slyly, and she looks like she wants to eat me up, "Holden told me he heard you in the bathroom."

Tony and Sadie walk up to us, and the three of them stand behind her like typical cronies. My throat goes dry.

"I-I-I wasn't doing a-anything..."

"Oh, sure. Probably just talking to your dick. It gets pretty lonely not functioning probably, doesn't it?" Kailani says, and they all erupt into cruel laughter.

I need to get out of here. Need to get home. There's an open spot to the right. Just push them and run. Run until you're home.

I start to move forward, mumbling, "I don't need this-"

"Don't need what?! To show us how much of a freak you are?!" Holden suddenly pipes.

Someone yanks on the top strap, and I almost fall right on my back. My bag falls away from my shoulders, and I'm suddenly pushed forward away from it, whipping back to see Holden's got a hold of it. Panic spreads across my entire being like some sort of rash and I reach forward to try and yank it out of his grip.

"Hey, give that back!"

Holden holds it over his head, tossing it to Tony. I run to him before his tosses it to Sadie. For a small girl, she's really fast and she hurls it over to Kailani. It dimly registers to me that this has now grabbed the attention of the rest of the student body, who are now watching this exchange eagerly.

"Aw, calm down what could be so bad?" Kailani says, and I grow terrified as she starts to unzip the bag. I lunge for her, but I feel Holden and Tony grab my arms and hold me back. She digs around, and dread blooms like a flower when I see her eyes go wide and her arm retract to reveal Goselyn in her hands.

She scoffs, "Boy, what is this?"

"Leave that alone! Put her down!" I yell, trying to kick and get the guys off of me.

Everyone's gathering at a circle by this point. Why don't they help me? Why do they let me suffer? Like I'm sort of a show at the circus. Like I'm nothing more than sort of spectacle to ogle at.

"Why, you afraid I'm gonna hurt your dolly?" Kailani mocks, holding her up for everyone to see, "Look everyone! He brought his toys to school!"

They all laugh. Vultures; they're all goddamn vultures. Just waiting for the worst to come so they can feast on my pain, my humiliation. Kailani just shakes her head at me, keeping Goselyn in her grip as she turns my bag upside down and lets everything spill out. Including Blade, Six Shooter, and Pinhead. My breath catches in my throat.

"There's more?! My god, you really are a loser!" she laughs so hard she holds her sides.

I want to punch her until her face is bleeding. I want to shove her against the wall. I want to grab her by the hair and drag her around the school, until it rips out by the roots. I want her to suffer.

Whatever it is, I want her to die.

Die and finally leave me alone.

"Just look at these! Is that what you were doing in the bathroom, Gaelin? Jacking off to your little dollies? That's pathetic, even for you," Kailani continues to taunt, holding up Pinhead by one of his fingers.

To their credit, they all stay still, but it brings me no comfort in the fact that they are now in the hands of the she devil. Everyone's laughing, some of them having their phones out and taking pictures of me. My hands are stinging from where my nails are digging into them.

"Give them back, Kailani! Or I'll-"

"Or you'll what?" Kailani asks, "You'll tell your Daddy on me? Oh, that's right! Your dad's dead! It's too bad he didn't take you with him. You're nothing but a freak, Gaelin. A spineless little freak wasting everyone's time and creeping everyone out with your weird little dreams and your faggy hobbies! And this dumb little doll-"

She holds Goselyn by the body while another hand grabs some of her curls, and I gasp in terror.

"Stop, leave her alone!"

"Is just like you!"

"STOP!"

She pulls, and in seconds Goselyn's hair is torn from her scalp. She pulls out random strands, orange fibers falling to the floor like feathers.

"Weak!"

She yanks her shoes off with her feet, throwing them away.

"Ugly!"

She pulls at her dress and I hear fabric tear.

"And nothing more than a piece of shit!"

She raises Goselyn above her head and throws her to the floor.

And she smashes her.

She steps on her, smashing her eyes until they're just cracks, crushing her limbs until they snap off, caving her head in.

"NO!" I scream, but it's too late.

Kailani pounds on her a few more times, rubbing them against the floor like she's smearing an insect off the bottom of her shoe, until she kicks the remains, scattering them.

Holden and Tony finally let me go, and I fall to my knees, focusing on Goselyn.

Or, what remains of her.

My arms hover over her, like I'm afraid to touch her. My breath is catching in my throat. My Goselyn, my dear Goselyn, my precious little girl that I worked so hard on- after all those hours Dad and I spent on her...

Gone. Just like he is.

Nothing more than a pile of rubbish.

My vision goes blurry, and I feel tears leaking down my cheeks.

"Aw, is the wittle baby gonna start cwying?" Tony mocks, patting my head as he bursts out laughing.

"Dumbass!"

"Wimp!"

"What a pussy!"

Most of the kids in the hallway are laughing, like it's the most hilarious thing in the world.

My fists clench again, but I feel no pain. I feel no sadness.

All I feel is raw, black hatred, building like a spreading wildfire.

I glare at her, feeling like I could just bash her face into the locker. I'm boiling alive. Saliva's gathering at the corners of my mouth, I'm literally foaming. My throat has this tight feeling and I can't say anything. My vision's blurry with tears, but I don't care to wipe them away. I can only focus on Kailani and how much I want to hit her, beat her until she bleeds. Until she stops moving.

Kailani simply scoffs and gives me the finger, "What's that look, for Killough? What, you hate me? Join the club. You think I give a damn of what some sad little low life thinks of me? Look at you, you're here sobbing and shit over a stupid doll! That's really pathetic. You angry? You want to hit me? Go ahead, it won't change anything. Especially not the fact that everyone here hates you! You're a screw up, an outcast, a piece of shit loser who should just do us all a favor and end it already! Not like anyone will miss you around here! You're just a waste of breath! Always was and always will be!"

I could kill her. I could strangle her and nobody could pry me off. I could bite her and rip her throat out, sock her until every facial bone is shattered. Take my backpack and hit her over the head and break her neck. I certainly feel like doing it.

But I don't.

Of course I don't.

I'm such a fucking coward.

Instead I just sit there for a second while Kailani continues to taunt. Now other kids are speaking up, putting in their two cents. Others are chanting 'fight, fight, fight!' in hopes one will happen. It's getting too loud, I can't take it. My fists are on fire from my nails, and my jaw aches from gritting my teeth so hard. It's too noisy, I can't take it. A little thought registers that Holden and Kailani have grabbed a hold of the puppets, holding them in front of my face in further mocking, daring me to do something so they have another excuse to rip them apart. Just like my self esteem. Just like my heart.

Instead, I dive in and grab Goselyn's limbs and run out the school, grabbing my bag, not bothering to pick up anything that fell out. I shove past everyone and almost crash into the doorways, but I'm too furious to care about the pain in my arms from forcing them open. I run home, out of breath, but I don't care. I get through the door, slamming it from behind me.

"Gaelin, what's going on?" Mom says as she comes from the living room. Today is not my fucking day. Paul's trailing behind her.

I don't say anything, just hold out Goselyn's parts in front of her. She looks down and then back up at me, and it dawns on her. She comes to hug me.

"What..what happened?" she asks.

"Kailani and them...got a hold of her...don't even know how she..." I can't talk straight. I feel like I'm hyperventilating. I whimper. I try not to cry, but it devours me.

"The kids at school did this?" Mom asks, holding my face and making me look at her.

"They...they tore her up..." I whisper, unable to hold it in.

"Is that what you're upset about? A doll?" Paul says, like I said I just saw pigs fly, "Goodness gracious, Gaelin, it's not that big of a deal."

" _Paul_."

"Maxine, come on, it's just a doll, it can be fixed-"

Something in me snaps. Maybe it's just the complete brushing off on the fact that I just admitted that I was being picked on. Maybe it's the arrogant gait in his voice when he realizes why I'm upset, maybe it's just the fact that once again, I feel like Paul's cornering me, interrogating me for nothing. Ridiculing me again for not being the stepson he planned on getting. Maybe it's just because I'm at my wit's end and need to take it out on someone, anyone. Whatever it may be, I'm pissed. Like the whipped dog just got off it's leash and is ready to bite back.

" _SHE'S NOT JUST A DOLL!"_ I scream at him, pulling away from Mom to glare at him.

They both wear looks of surprises, but the heat boils over, and before I know it, I'm at it.

" _IT'S SO EASY FOR YOU TO SAY! YOU HAVE NO FUCKING CLUE WHAT THEY DID TO HER, WHAT IS WAS LIKE TO WATCH THEM LAUGH AT ME AND PICK ON ME! TO WATCH EVERYONE ENJOY IT AND DO NOTHING! YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHAT SHE MEANT TO ME! ALL YOU EVER DO IS TREAT ME LIKE SHIT AND TALK TO ME LIKE I'M STUPID! YOU'RE JUST LIKE THE REST OF THEM! YOU CAN NEVER JUST LEAVE ME ALONE! I... **I HATE YOU!**_ " I yell.

To whom am I saying this to? Paul? Kailani? The vice principal? My mind is blurred in the haze of red. It all just comes out like a massive tidal wave. And when it comes out, my mouth just opens, and I can do nothing to prevent the casualties that come in my path.

I race up to my room and slam the door to that to. It doesn't even register to me that the puppets are all watching this unfold.

Finally, I scream, unable to hold it in anymore.

"FUCKING HELL!" I roar, not caring who or what hears me. My lips are pulled back and I can feel veins bulging in my throat, like a volume knob turned to maximum, like it's impossible now for me to talk at the moment without yelling. I'm furious, full of liquid fire running through my veins, the blazing hate a full fledged inferno.

I punch the door. That's not enough. I punch it again. And again. Over and over, until my knuckles are numb with pain. All the while I'm yelling. I bang on it several times before pounding my fists on my bed. I grab my pencil case and fling it across the room. I brush everything off my desk, not caring about the little tubes of paint that spill across the wall and carpet. I throw my books on the floor, I take papers and shred them, unable to contain anything. I scream and yell profanities, cursing at Kailani and God and anyone else that I feel is responsible for this at the moment. I throw several things at the wall- my shoes, my little figurines of cartoon characters, my notebooks. I rip the sheets off my bed throw my chair. I roar incoherently, whatever feels good to let it all out.

" **FUUUUUUUUUUCK!"**

After it all, I'm just standing there, brewing in anger. I'm panting, out of breath, and my fists are clenched to the point they're starting to hurt. I look around my destroyed room. I don't care that it's in disarray for the moment, all I care about is looking around. I don't know, I can't explain it.

Then I realize the puppets are all staring at me. Tunneler and Leech Woman are cowering behind Torch, who has his flamethrower hand raised in warning. Jester's face is spun into a look of surprise, holding a hand to his mouth.

Then the flame is all drenched in cold realization.

I left them behind.

Blade, Six, and Pinhead. They're still at school.

No, worse. They're in Kailani's hands. Who the hell knows what she plans on doing to them.

The hate is gone. Instead, dread and pain fills its spot.

I look down at what remains of Goselyn- her caved in head with only a few strands of messy hair left in her scalp, her broken and flattened limbs, the little torn fabric that remains of her dress, a cracked eye left in one socket.

And just like that, I lose all the fight.

Something, a sob or a whimper- something that sounds akin to a wounded dog rips from my throat, and I sink to the floor. The tears return, wetting the carpet as I cradle her remains, curling into a little ball. I softly hit the floor with my fists as I bawl.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," I just say.

I couldn't protect them. Blade, Six Shooter, and Pinhead are now gone. Gone at the mercy of that...that bitch. And the last thing I said to them...I was mad. I was angry. I didn't even get a chance to say goodbye. I told them I'd protect them and I let them down.

I just keep repeating "I'm sorry" as it all comes out in a different form: Large, giant blubbers that take so much air out of me, that make my ribcage ache like I can't breathe. Harsh coughing fits that scratch my throat raw.

I hear a slight knock at the doorway.

" _Gael', could I come in?"_

I wipe at my tears, "Go away."

The door opens anyway, and Mom strolls in.

"Honey, no, enough is enough. Stop shutting me out. Please, talk to me."

I just look at her. She's not angry, though her voice is stern. She's looking at me with pity, her eyes looking sad. I can't take it. I try to say something, but I only end up breaking down, curling deeper into myself. I feel her kneel down and gather me into her arms, pulling me into her chest. All the way I just cry, not knowing what else to do.

I just keep repeating myself.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry..."

* * *

 _A/N: Fun fact, there actually is a few installments of a Puppet Master comic; done by Eternity comics, and then by Action Lab. The original comic was pretty much a sequel before the sequel (it came out before PM 2, though Torch does appear). Ironically, this comic makes Leech Woman and Blade the first two puppets Toulon created, instead of like the third film where they're the last two. The comic also carried elements similar to the later films- Toulon does die and is resurrected by the puppets, but instead of a villain, in the Eternity comics he's more of a protagonist, helping his cousin Paul defeat the German spies who were originally after him before he dies a second time; the puppets end up being 'adopted' by Paul. The second part of the Eternity comics takes place after the sequel, where Megan looks after the puppets (it is comically revealed Gallagher was resurrected in the body of the taxidermic dog), before they turn on her and she eventually leads them to burn to death when the hotel catches fire._

 _The Action Lab comics, which involve everyone including Torch and Decapitron, actually dwell deeper into the humanity of the puppets in a later story arc (the first arc I can't remember all that well), where at one point they all gain human bodies (this take reveals that Torch was originally a Nazi youth who Blade killed when he tried attacking Andre) and try to live again. The puppet bodies, however, take minds of their own, and everyone is killed and find themselves trapped in Hell at the mercy of Sutekh's son, Anapa, where they make a deal to take down each of their puppet forms in exchange for getting out of Hell (as far as I know this series was either discontinued or is on hiatus). This installment also features a story arc around them stopping Camille- the lady who ends up in Elsa's mannequin body- who has since become a serial killer, killing several children at the mental hospital that was mentioned at the end of Puppet Master II._

 _And just a warning, the next chapter's about to get really dark._


	15. The First Blood Falls

**Chapter XIV: The First Blood Falls**

"Holden, seriously, _quit it_ ," Kailani nabbed playfully as she shoved him away from her, trying to focus on her phone screen. She was yielded again, however, by the feel of his hands creeping up her sides, wrapping around her waist and pulling her back as she pressed another kiss to her cheek.

"Aw, come on baby," Holden tried to plead, "You know you like it."

"What I know is that if I don't text my mom back she's gonna have my head," she quipped, elbowing him before leaning over, finally able to complete her message and press the 'send' button. Holden made a 'hmph' sound, pouting as he rested his cheek in his hand. Not that he didn't enjoy it, but sometimes Kailani could be such a tease, buttering him up before just leaving him hanging.

"Since when do you care what your mom thinks?"

"Since I've noticed she's started leaving a baby monitor by the door."

On a regular basis, Holden would make a remark that Kailani shouldn't have been surprised and that they both knew her mother said a lot of things, but the noticeable change in tone in his girlfriend's voice let him know he best back off and hold his tongue this time.

Scrolling through her messages one last time, Kailani sighed as she noticed the time. 10:14. Out past curfew. Normally, she didn't care if she stayed out until nine or five past midnight, and though she knew her mother for the most part didn't care either- despite all her insistence in the vicious screaming matches they engaged in when the latter decided she wanted to try and be the authoritative parent- she had received a message letting her know that the night shift had been particularly bad and that her mom was going to meet up with some coworkers for drinks, and Kailani didn't feel like staying up for an extra hour wearing her voice out tonight. Sighing, she placed her phone in the pocket of her sweats and pulled on her jacket. She looked at Holden, noticing how he stared at her through his unevenly cut bangs.

"I need to go," she said.

Holden, seeing the look in her eyes, simply nodded, "I'll give you a ride."

As the old worn Chevy made its way around turns and corners and the shabby white house came into view, Kailani felt a familiar since of dread start to bubble in her stomach; the same feeling that came at the end of every day when she had to return home. As Holden stopped in front of the mailbox, she took a deep breath. She reached over to Holden and wrapped her arms around his neck, sighing as they kissed, feeling his own make their way around her waist, rubbing her back. Pulling away, she opened the door to the car. She was stopped by the feeling of Holden grabbing onto her wrist, she looked back at him.

"I'll call you when I get home," he said, looking her in the eye.

Giving him a small smile, she squeezed his fingers before letting go and shutting the door. Walking up the driveway, the dread returned, now making her heart pound quicker, anxiety coming at Kailani with a vengeance as her thoughts gave way to the possible Hell that awaited her on the other side of the door. Looking over her shoulder to see Holden had yet to drive away, still watching her in his car, she sighed and pushed the door open, bracing herself.

It was almost completely dark. The kitchen lights were off, the only illumination coming from the living room from the television. The air stunk of stale beer and smoke. Wrinkling her nose, Kailani wafted her hand in front of her face in an attempt to distill the odor. She made her way towards the living room.

Betting her chances, Kailani looked in and over to the furniture. Her mother's familiar spot on the loveseat had been unusually vacant tonight, the only evidence of her being the smothered out cigarette butts in the ashtray. Making her way to the kitchen island, she caught the glance of a note on the counter. Picking it up, she looked it over to find a message written on it in her mom's spidery writing.

 _Gone to the bar with Michelle and Juan. There's chicken fingers in the fridge._

 _Take the trash out._

 _-Mom_

Rolling her eyes, Kailani crumpled the note in her hands as she threw it in the trash can. Chicken fingers from the ninety-nine cent store; obviously a sign her mother had been really desperate to get wasted, enough that she didn't even bother going to the store, instead relying on the week old leftovers in their refrigerator. Whatever, Kailani had already eaten with Holden, it didn't matter.

Making her way up to her bedroom, Kailani flicked on the lights, throwing her bag onto the nearest bean bag chair before collapsing onto her stomach onto her bed. Sprawling out, she contemplated calling Holden and just having him come back and pick her up so she could spend the night as his house. It's not like her mother cared either way. Besides, what did she have to lose?

"Other than Ramirez getting on my ass and failing me," she muttered to herself, remembering how she had yet to complete that night's homework. Or last night's, for that matter. Or the night before that.

Deciding she might as well try, Kailani turned on her music, reaching for her backpack as the soulful sounds of TLC blasted through the room. Unzipping it, she reached in to grab her notebook, before her hand closed on an unknown object.

"What the-" Kailani said to herself, before pulling it out.

Seeing what it was, she was taken back in surprise, dropping it and yelping in fear, before reclaiming herself.

It was one of the toys she had found in Gaelin's bag earlier that day- some kind of mutated Woody from Toy Story, a cowboy that had two extra pairs of arms sewn onto his torso. She couldn't explain it- he was always a weird ass kid like that.

Kailani grimaced as she looked at the toy, remembering the events of that day. After Gaelin had run out of the school with his broken doll in his arms- crying like a little girl who had just seen her dog run over- she had then exchanged...less than pleasant words with his little groupie.

 _Kailani felt a harsh shove on her back, almost falling forward on her face had it not been for Holden catching her arms in time. Gathering herself, she shot around, shooting a death glare to whoever dared put her hands on her, only to meet Audrey's equally cold hazel eyes._

" _What the fuck is wrong with you?" Audrey snarled, fists balled as she gritted her teeth at the brunette._

" _Jesus, what the hell's your problem?" Holden scoffed. Kailani placed her hands on her hips, though the goth girl refused to back down._

" _You know what my problem is, you asshole!" The goth shot back at him, before turning her gaze back to the brown skinned Hawaiian, "What you fuckers did to Gaelin! How the hell could you do that to somebody, Kailani?! Breaking his things? In front of everybody, no less?! That was cold, even for you!"_

 _So that was what it was, Kailani thought as she rolled her eyes, though she wasn't very surprised, "And why the hell do you care, 'Ughdrey'? I didn't see you come to his defense at all."_

" _I was in drama club!" Audrey snapped in defense._

" _So what, you his little bodyguard, all of a sudden?" Kailani questioned, eyes narrowed, "What about the last seven or eight times it happened? I didn't see you getting all White Knight about it. Oh, don't tell me! You're not actually getting all hot and bothered by him, are you?!"_

 _To her delight, Audrey went red in the face, though the fury in her eyes only increased. She walked up to Kailani, looking like she was about ready to sock the curly top. Kailani only welcomed it- she'd love to get rowdy and show Corpse Girl her place. She stepped forward until the two were nose to nose._

 _Sadie strolled up, also getting in Audrey's face, "You really want to do this now? Really?!"_

 _Audrey didn't say anything to the blonde, only continuing to stare at Kailani. Kailani only raised her eyebrows, silently daring the goth to throw the first punch. Everyone else in the hallway, immediately drawn to the hostile confrontation, stood with baited breath, mentally hoping for fists to fly._

 _Instead, Audrey just stepped back, though the look of displease on her face had yet to wane, the anger in her gaze making the green of her eyes pop like bright jade._

" _You know, I don't know what your problem is," she bit, "But one of these days it's all going to come back to get you, Kailani. One of these days you're going to push someone too far, and when it comes back to bite you in the ass, I only hope that you still have friends there to worry about your sorry ass. But be known, that sure as hell won't be me."_

 _Kailani laughed, "Like I give a damn what you think, Losnedahl? Please, I'm not scared of what any of these losers has in store. I welcome it!"_

In truth, though, the orange haired girl's words did bother her.

Kailani frowned as she glanced down at the cowboy doll, before reaching into her bag and pulling out the other two- some sort of weird one dressed in black who had a knife and hook for hands, and one in a tacky red sweater with a small head. She thought about the scene near the lockers, about what she had done and Gaelin's whole reaction to it.

Okay, maybe she did go a little overboard with smashing his stupid doll, but could they really blame her? Gaelin walked around every day, moping to himself and acting like his life was so horrible. Okay, so his dad died last year. Yeah it was terrible what happened and it must've really sucked for him, but it was a year ago! He had to learn to get on with his life eventually. It wasn't like his life was _that_ bad. He lost his old man, sure, but he still had a mom who loved him- or at least Kailani could assume so by the few times she'd seen the lady in question- who had a job that made good money, and they lived in a good house in a nice neighborhood. By the way Gaelin acted, though, it was like the car accident had occurred just the previous day and that Death was following him everywhere. Like he just expected everyone to feel sorry for him and cater to him and run up and kiss his ass. And seeing him every day- the stupidly sad puppy dog look he always wore, the way he almost never said anything in class, the fact he never stood up for himself, the fact he collected kids' toys (and not just toys, but dolls! Dolls for little girls!), the fact he just so _fucking_ weird- it drove Kailani fucking crazy.

"It's not like he's the only one with problems," Kailani muttered to herself in defense.

It wasn't like he never knew his dad. Not many people had that luxury. At least he had a mom- and a stepfather, the lucky ass- who had good jobs, and not a piece of shit mom who cared more about partying than actually having a good standard of living or getting to know her own kid. A pang of hurt went through Kailani's chest as she thought of, and she allowed herself to think back to the thoughts she often had of getting away from it all, of finally getting away from her mom and being back on the beaches of Waipahu, listening to her kuku kane tell her stories of old Polynesian folklore or her kuku wahine teaching her how to cook traditional cuisine.

These thoughts were quickly replaced with annoyance. Gaelin had no idea how lucky he was. And if he wasn't going to shape up and quit acting like a little bitch, why bother treating him any less than that? Hell, he'd probably thank her one day. Maybe he'd grow some balls for once and finally toughen up.

Kailani looked at the three dolls, which she had placed in her bag. She had teased Gaelin about taking them home for 'renovations', hoping for some kind of response. But things didn't go according to plan, and Gaelin had run out before she could make up her mind about what to do with them. Then she and Holden had gone out on a date, and they had since lay forgotten in her bag.

Sneering, Kailani picked one of them back up. This one had been dressed like some detective, with a little black trenchcoat and a matching hat to go with it. Looking him over, she noted how his eyes were rather skeletal- empty sockets that had just two little holes in the center, with a big obnoxious grin on his face.

"Where the hell does he come with these ideas?" Kailani asked to no one as she examined the puppet.

She took one of its hands, one that had a knife, and examined it, observing the way it gleamed under the light. It looked pretty real. But Gaelin wasn't a big enough freak to put real weapons in his toys, was he? She honestly didn't know. Honestly, when she thought about it, she couldn't really put it past him.

"I think I'll give you a makeover," she commented, "Maybe give you a little trim here and there. Aw, how about a dye job! I heard pink is really in this season! Can't imagine the look on 'Palelin's face when he sees the work I put into his 'dollies.' Or maybe I'll just put you through the wood chipper. Yeah, I'll do that. I could use some extra firewood. Chop you into pieces. Then maybe I'll give you back to him as a gift. See the look on his face- can't imagine how he'd react, seeing as he almost shit his pants when I smashed his little girl toy in front of him."

Hey, if Gaelin obviously didn't care enough about them to even fight for them, why not have a little fun?

She held the doll up to her face, giving it a sweet smile, "What do you say, little guy? You ready to be dissected?"

The puppet said nothing.

All of a sudden, something popped out of its eyes.

Kailani jumped back.

She looked closer. The puppet's eyes were still hollow.

Only now, little spikes poked out of the holes of its eye sockets. Kailani raised a brow, looking closer. She felt around. Did she do that? It didn't feel like there was any kind of mechanism that triggered that.

"The hell?"

She still held it, bringing it closer to her face to examine whether or not she had imagined the whole thing.

Suddenly, the puppet's mouth opened, and Kailani swore she heard a hissing sound come out of it.

She had no time to think on it, though, before the puppets hands suddenly raised up, and it swung its knife hand, cleaving it right across her cheek.

"Ah!" Kailani yelped, dropping the puppet the second she felt the knife.

She stood up from the bed, holding her cheek, a stinging sensation ripping right through it. She glared down at the puppet. She looked back to her fingers. They were wet with blood. Her heart was pounding.

She glanced down at the puppet.

It moved.

She swore, it just fucking moved.

Now, though it just lay on the floor, on its back as it continued to stare at her, the spikes in its eyes shining in the light. Kailani just stared at it, frozen in fear. She slowly reached forward, nudging it with her toe before quickly pulling her foot back.

Nothing.

Had...had she imagined the whole thing?

Before she could dwell on it, she suddenly yelled in surprise as she felt something on the back of her head, pulling at her hair as the air was suddenly cut off, feeling something tight wrap around her neck, pulling and squeezing at her windpipe. Kailani's hands went to her throat, stumbling backward as she struggled to breathe. Her foot slipped on a sock and she felt herself collide with the wall, shoulder blades yelling out in pain as she hit the drywall. Kailani reached up to whatever was choking her, her chest filling with horror and fear as she felt was seemed to be a body on her head. Grasping at what felt like wool, she pulled and flung it forward, bracing herself against the wall.

She looked at where she had thrown the mysterious body, mortified when she saw what had been attacking her.

It was the other puppet, the one in the red sweater.

And it was moving.

Kailani's eyes widened in horror, watching as the puppet with the red sweater pushed itself into a sitting position where it had fallen on the floor, getting back onto its thin feet with its large hands.

She heard a hissing sound to her right. Looking slowly, she saw that the puppet with the knife hand was also standing on its own, aiming its knife at her- it was shining crimson with blood. _Her blood._

Something that sounded akin to a small chuckle came from her bed, and Kailani looked to see that the cowboy doll was in her line of sight. It, too, was standing up by itself.

" _WHAT THE FUCK?!"_ she screamed as she stood up.

The cowboy held up its six hands. In each of them was a small pistol.

Suddenly something flashed in one of its hands, a loud _POP!_ erupting in Kailani's ear drum as a the window cracked, a tiny hole appearing.

Kailani screamed in fear, ducking down. Desperate, she felt her hand land on a tennis ball. Enclosing it in her fist, she jumped up and threw it at the cowboy, before diving ahead and making a run for the door, not caring if she missed it or not. She tried dodging the other two puppets, her shoulder slamming into the door as she underestimated the force, sweaty hands grasping the door handle and yanked to get it open.

She didn't get far, however, as felt something grab at her ankle, making her fall down right in the doorway. Pain flared up in her kneecaps and her wrists as she landed, and Kailani looked over her shoulder, screaming as she saw the puppet in the red sweater had managed to grab a hold of her foot. Kicking, she sent him flying backwards into the room as she scrambled to get up.

 _BANG!_

"AH!"

Kailani doubled over, fire erupting in her side as something pierced right through her. Her hands flew to her waist, and she looked down with teary eyes, heart hammering at what she saw. She had been shot, blood instantly soaking her scoop neck, turning the blue fabric dark. Another shot rang out, and Kailani screeched, pain blooming at her temple as the bullet grazed her head. She looked up, terror building as she saw the three of them make their way towards her.

"GET AWAY FROM ME!" she yelled as she turned and bolt for the stairs.

Grasping the railing for dear life, she held one hand to her bleeding side as she stumbled to get to the stairs.

"HELP! SOMEBODY HELP!" she cried out, "SOMEBODY HELP ME, PLEASE!"

As she turned the corner, Kailani missed a step, and she shrieked as she felt her legs slide out from under her, barely having time to register putting her arms around her head as she was sent flying down the stairs, gasping in pain as her body took a tumble. The edges of the steps dug into her body, her head and limbs banging against them. The wound in her side exploded in raw pain as it slammed against the the steps, and Kailani saw the floor for only a fraction of a second before her head collided with it, a sickening thud echoing through her skull as it met the hard tile.

Everything went white, and for some time, nothing registered.

When she came to, Kailani opened her eyes, her vision fuzzy as pain hammered through her head, as if someone had taken a jackhammer to it. She looked around the dark area, not understanding where she was for a second. The impact had caused a cut to open on her forehead, and she was blinded in one eye from the blood running into it. Slowly, it all came back to her, and fear struck her heart as she looked around, listening for any sound that the three little menaces had caught up to her.

Nothing.

Gasping for breath, Kailani made a move to stand. She nearly collapsed at the combination of the pain in her bleeding side and the vertigo her head was giving her. Leaning against the wall for support, she looked to the front door. _Just get out,_ she told herself, _Just make there and you're home free. Just need to get out that door. Right. Now!_

Something sliced at her heel, and Kailani shrieked at the new pain, her left leg losing all means of support as she felt onto her side. She looked back in horror to see the puppet in the trenchcoat standing right at her feet, having sliced right through her heel all the way to the bone. No doubt her Achilles tendon had been severed. It held up its knife like it was proud, the blood black in the darkness. The puppet in the red sweater suddenly appeared, and Kailani cried out in a mix of horror and torment as he grabbed her ruined ankle, and with surprising force of someone his stature, proceeded to drag her to the kitchen.

"NO! NO! HELP!" she screamed as she pawed at the smooth ground, kicking back uselessly as she was pulled around the corner. She dug her nails into the wall, trying to hold on, leaving scratch marks as the puppet yanked on her feet, almost dragging her all the way. Kicking him again, she stood up, pulling up against the counter for dear life. She felt out of breath and exhausted, blood loss starting to kick in, making her dizzy.

She saw a dark shape leap out in the corner of her eye, and turned her head.

Bad move.

The knife handed puppet leaped out right in front of her, shooting forward with its hook hand, the point digging into her bottom right eyelid and pulling. Kailani screamed as she felt the skin tear, splitting open as he reached up with his knife hand, slicing wherever he could at her face. Kailani threw her hands up, trying to block the little ingrate as much as she could. He was relentless, though, and stabbed and swiped at every available patch of skin he could. Her forehead, her wrists, her fingers, her cheeks, her chin. Kailani managed to grab him by the legs and threw him in the direction of the living room, seeing him hit a vase of dead flowers and knock it over.

Her hands hovered over her face as she gasped and sobbed in pain. Her salty tears did nothing to soothe the various cuts, her split eyelid roaring in pain. She heard several small clicks behind her, and Kailani turned as best she could- mindful of keeping weight off her bad foot- throat going dry when she saw the cowboy standing right in front of her guns raised.

 _BANG!_

She howled, one bullet hitting her in the arm, hot white pain instantly ringing all the way down to her fingertips.

 _BANG! BANG!_

One lodged right into her collarbone, blood spurting out like a hose.

The third got her right in the kneecap, and Kailani wailed like a banshee as she felt herself go down instantly. A high pitched shriek erupted from her throat as she landed on her hurt knee, the pain intensifying. She felt something climb on her back, before something blunt and heavy starting hitting her in the back of the head. She shrieked, vision going blurry as black spots starting appearing over her vision. Rolling onto her back, she got up to a kneeling position, looking to the left to see that the puppet with the small head was looking straight at her. A meat tenderizer was in his hands.

Kailani heaved, teary eyes darting around the lower level, trying to find some means of escape. The front door, a window, a closet, _something!_ Her eyes settled on the window in the hallway. It was halfway open, the screen having long since been removed. Heart feeling like it was about to burst out her chest, Kailani pushed herself up, though she found it difficult to move with pain rattling her bones, gritting her teeth at the burning at her foot as she was forced to crawl with her knee and foot now useless, going as fast as a soldier crawling the muddy waters.

She could hear them gaining up on her.

Grasping the windowsill, she stuck out her head, trying to get out as fast she could in her damaged state.

"SOMEONE HELP!" she screamed, her voice hoarse and her throat raw.

"PLEASE ANYBODY! SOMEBO-"

Cut off, Kailani's scream died in her mouth as she felt something launch on her back and begin beating her in the head again. Blindly, she thrashed, though in her state, she just stumbled around, feeling her calves bash into corners. The puppet continued beating her with the meat tenderizer, the pointed edges drawing blood as they ripped pieces of her hair from her scalp. She crashed into the walls, trying as hard as she could to get the tiny juggernaut off and away from her. She felt a second body climb up her back, something tearing the back of her shirt open as it split her skin like paper.

"GET OFF!" Kailani screeched, throwing the puppet down a third time.

However, she failed to notice just where her position was, as she was now backing up against the coffee table.

She screamed as the back of her knees caught the edge, the force pulling her backwards.

She clawed at the air, trying to maintain her balance, though her feet, slick with blood from her severed tendon and blown out knee, slipped over themselves, sending her flying back.

At the edge of the coffee table sat a dumbbell- one of the many scattered things left lying around the house due to either Miss Makoa's lack of organization or Holden forgetting his things again- a metal one with the weights in the shape of octagons, the engrave on the side stating they weighed at least sixty pounds.

Kailani screamed as she flew backward, only seeing white ceiling for a minute-

-before the back of her head smashed into the corner of the dumbbell.

A small sound escaped her throat, agony that felt like a head on collision against her head shooting through her.

She could dimly feel blood start to run down the back of her neck where the dumbbell's sharp edge cut into her.

Her eyes rolled back in her head as she jerked slightly.

Then she went completely still.

Silence.

The three small figures gathered around the figure of the injured girl, watching for any signs of life.

Kailani lay spread eagle, blood starting to pour out from under her, soaking the already stained carpet. Her shirt was torn, exposing small cuts that ran all across her sides. The wound in her collarbone stained her dark skin and her soiled shirt, both looking jet black in the darkness of the house. Her foot looked horrifically torn apart, the gash in her heel now further aggravated. Her kneecap was destroyed, the damage of the area hidden as her grey sweatpants soaked in the carmine fluid. Her brown eyes were cloudy, the sclera of one of them a stomach turning-scarlet from the blood that gathered in it from her split eyelid and the cut on her temple. A perfect circle dug in her arm spilled blood. Her tears mixed in with the blood on her face, diluting it as her lifeless gaze stared at the ceiling.

One, a puppet with a large frame that did not match his small head nor his thin legs, went over to her, putting a large human-sized hand above her mouth, testing to see if there was a breath to be drawn or let out, a twitch to be observed.

Nothing.

The three of them looked at each other.

Without one word spoken, they made their way to the open window. Dragging a chair over, they each took turns climbing onto the windowsill.

They spared just one glance at Kailani's mutilated body, before turning their backs and disappearing into the night.

Upstairs, her phone vibrated on her desk, the caller none the wiser.


	16. Promise

**Chapter XV: Promise**

Tunneler paced the desk, his arms threaded together behind him as he cast another impatient glance at the clock. Only a minute had passed since he last looked. Groaning, he tapped his foot before resuming his back and forth walking of the desk. He paused again, casting a worried glance at the Master's fidgeting form, the latter deep in a fitful sleep. He thought back to the scene that had transpired hours earlier, trying to push down the thought of the worst happening away.

It had been almost twelve hours since the Master had burst into the room and wrecked it before breaking down into tears. Since then, they still had no idea what had happened to Blade, Six Shooter, or Pinhead. Only the Master's tear streaked face and his repeated apologies could give any clue, though the four of them tried to be optimistic that it sounded worse than it really was. Tunneler cast a look around the room. Jester sat by the nightstand, his face spun into his worried form as he dangled his foot nervously. Leech Woman sat by the Master, stroking his hair in an attempt to soothe him as the Master's eyelids fluttered uneasily, his sleeping face twisted into a pained expression. Torch was...well, Torch was Torch.

The coneheaded puppet was broken out of his thoughts when a sudden bold rapping sound came from the window, like someone had been hitting a small stone against the glass. Tunneler's head shot up, overcome with surprise at the sight of a familiar hook shaped outline being the culprit, rapping the glass with short, hard strokes. His heart filled with relief when he also glanced at the slender black shape whom the hook belonged to, their character hidden by the shadows of the trees and night.

Jumping over, Tunneler nearly knocked himself off the window sill with the amount of force he used to grab onto the windowsill and yank the lock open.

" _Blade, brother! You have made it back!"_ he announced gladly as he slid the window open.

Blade, while a bit damp and dirtied but otherwise looking unharmed, tipped his head as he scraped as he scraped leaves off his jacket- " _Yes. I apologize for taking so long, but we had no idea where had been taken and had to backtrack several times over the night."_

" _And Pinhead and Six Shooter? Are they all right?"_ Jester asked, brows pinched in worry as he noticed the absence of companions.

Blade gestured to the outside, and right on cue, Six Shooter came stumbling into the room, his clothes in the same condition as Blade. Pinhead came wobbling in after him, a large slab of filth streaked across his sweater.

" _Oh, thank heavens you three are all right!"_ Leech Woman exclaimed as she climbed across the bed, trying to to scramble across the fabric as quick as she could without waking the master, " _What on Earth happened to you?!"_

" _After we slipped into the master's bag and the Goselyn doll fell in, he discovered us in the middle of schooling hours,"_ Blade explained as she helped him pick spare leaves and twigs out of his hair _, "At the end of the day, some girl and her friends stole his bag. They broke the doll and the Master ran away. The girl ended up taking us with her."_

Six Shooter scoffed _, "More like she was ripped into like a carcass near a pack of hounds, I reckon."_

Jester's eyes widened at the revelation. He looked over at the master's work desk, where the doll in question- or, more appropriately, what was left of her- lay in pieces. He couldn't help but cringe every time he looked at her, horrified to learn just what had transpired for her to receive this fate, this pitiful little state she was now in; her body broken, her head nearly unrecognizable, her clothes nothing but shreds. To learn that his brethren had been discovered by the very outsiders who did it brought no comfort.

Tunneler grimaced at the description, " _Well, that certainly answers some questions. No wonder why the master was so upset."_

" _How has he been, speaking of which?"_ Pinhead asked, looking over at his owner's slumbering form, _"Last time we spoke, he was angry at us for sneaking out, but he appeared very distraught when she was broken. He ran out of school with her without saying a word."_

" _'Distraught' is putting it lightly,"_ Jester explained as he gestured back to the bed. The three looked to see the master was deep asleep, albeit seemingly troubled as he tossed and turned in the sheets- " _When he came home he was an absolute wreck. He completely lost it; he just kept throwing things and yelling and screaming, and then he just...broke. He couldn't stop crying the whole night. We were scared sick with what that might have implied. He was very worried about you guys."_

Six Shooter raised his head in surprise at the last comment, _"Seriously?"_

" _Jester's right_ ," Leech Woman added, _"I can guess he will be most delighted to see you are safe."_

" _Yes, though I am curious to know however you found your way back. What of the girl you say who took you?"_ Tunneler asked.

The look Blade gave him was rather confusing, like he was hesitant to reveal what events had transpired. He opened his mouth to explain-

" _You killed her. Didn't you?"_

The six of them looked to where Torch leaned against the bookshelf, having almost forgotten he was in the room. He crossed his arms defiantly, one leg crossed over the other as his red eyes stared down at Blade, Pinhead, and Six Shooter in a silent demand for an answer.

It suddenly registered what his words were, and Jester whipped his head at Blade, dread suddenly growing in his wooden gut at entertaining the thought that Torch's words ran true. Blade didn't look at him, glaring at Torch.

" _...We didn't have a choice..._ "

" _That's not an answer_ ," Torch responded.

Six Shooter muttered, looking to the side- " _Ain't like the bitch didn't deserve it."_

Pinhead glared at him, annoyed. Torch shook his head, letting loose a laugh- " _So you did. I can't believe it, all this time you all get on me for breaking these 'rules' and yet here we are, with blood on your hands already."_

" _She was threatening to destroy us,"_ Blade snapped angrily, " _If she were so quick to destroy the doll, God knows what she would have done to us. Or to the master, for that matter. You didn't see the look on his face when she broke her, didn't see just how devastated he was. The girl and her friends were immensely cruel to him, who knows what else they might have done to him."_

Leech Woman gestured downwards with her hands in an attempt to ease the tension. " _Okay, okay, everyone just calm down. At least tell us nobody saw you, right?"_

Pinhead nodded, " _She was the only one in the house and it was dark out."_

" _Good. Now let's just get you guys cleaned up. Master will surely be angry if he sees you tracked mud through the house."_

* * *

 _I'm in some kind of room. From all the furniture, it looks rather old._

 _What am I doing here? I look around. There's...some kind of hole in the wall. Stepping closer to it, I realize it's some sort of compartment. Like a crawl space. I step to it, and see something glint inside._

 _It's the trunk the puppets came in. I kneel down, furrowing my brows when I look at it, seeing it's slightly open. What is it doing in here? I open it further to inspect it. The puppets are all here except...Torch and the mercury headed puppet aren't here. There's also other puppets that must have gotten lost or misplaced over the years; one that's dressed in some sort of traditional Asian attire, and one that's wearing a turban with large hoop earrings._

 _"You must stop them!"_

 _I jump at the sound of someone shouting behind me, twisting around to see the voice. An old man is standing in front of me._

 _My eyes widen at the sight of blood staining his shirt, running down from behind his neck in rivelets. My stomach turns._

 _"You must stop them, before more people die!" The old man shouts, looking at me in desperation._

 _What? Who's 'they'?_

 _"I, uh, wha-"_

 _"Please," He just says, "You must help them! Show them that killing is not the answer! This is just what Sutekh wanted, and if they are not stopped, innocent blood will be spilled again! The legacy must come to an end! Please, Gaelin, before it's too late!"_

I'm shaken out of sleep by the sound of my phone ringing. Peeping one eye open- only to close it again when the bright light makes it feel like my eyeball is being seared. I pull the duvet over my head to block it out, slamming my palm against the nightstand to try and feel for it, finally grabbing hold of it as it vibrates.

"Hello?" I ask groggily.

" _Hey, so we just had two people call out. Think you can come in around one?"_ Carter's voice comes from the other side.

I peak out from the covers and look at my clock. It's almost eleven.

Honestly, I'd rather not after yesterday. But my bank account is starting to drain, and I'd rather not be stuck in the house all day reminded of my failures. Rubbing my eyes, I mutter into the phone, "Sure, I'll be there."

" _Great! See you then!"_ He says all cheery before hanging up.

I put my phone back on the nightstand and stare at the ceiling for a few minutes, instant regret creeping into my chest. I don't want to get up at all. I haven't spoken a word to the puppets about what happened yesterday, and I don't want to have to get up and face them, knowing they deserve the truth. It's almost enough to get the waterworks going again.

And what was with that dream? I've never seen that guy before in my life. What was he doing with the puppets?

I run a hand through my hair and then pull back the covers. I fling my feet over the side, stretching my arms above my head to try and crack my back.

A little movement from the side catches my eye, and I gaze to the right, where the puppets are gathered on my desk. Jester turns to when he hears the bed creak, giving me a small wave of his hand. I give a half-hearted smile in return, waving back. I get up and start walking over, "Hey guys, what are yo-"

Then I notice something.

Jester, Tunneler, Leech Woman, and Torch-

But there's three more bodies.

Something squeezes hard in my chest when I realize that means only one thing.

"Pin? Blade? S-Six, i-is that you?" I ask hesitantly, reaching out my hand like they might disappear any second.

Sure enough, the three of them come up to the front. They're a little dirty here and there and their clothes are a little wrinkled, but otherwise they're all in one piece. They're all safe.

They're home.

I don't know just what comes over me, but I rush forward and instantly scoop the three of them into my arms, not caring about the little jab of pain in my arm from where Blade's hook presses into my pressure point.

"I was so worried!" I say as I hold them close, running my hand over their heads like a mother would her baby, "I'm so, so, so sorry that I left you behind. I didn't know what I was thinking, I was just so angry and I didn't even think for a second what might happen to you if I...I..."

Before I even know it, I'm bawling again. I squeeze them against my chest, sobbing and pressing their heads close and so overwhelmed with relief and guilt that it almost makes me lightheaded.

There's a small touch on my arm, and I look to see Leech Woman is rubbing it, like he's trying to reassure me everything's okay. Like a mother would. For that matter, they've all gathered around me- even Torch, though he stands at my knee, trying to play it off like he doesn't care. Something crawls up my back, and I look to see Jester settle himself on my shoulder like a parrot, his hand on the back of my head to steady himself. Tunneler sits on my thigh. I look down and see that the boys are all looking back at me- then I realize that they're holding tightly onto me, almost as if they're afraid I might drop them.

They must have been scared out of their wits. Alone, isolated, far away from home. Strangers in a strange land. All I know is that Kailani lives a ways away, so God knows how far they had to travel to find their way back. What might have happened to them. What if they got attacked by some animal, or someone else got a hold of them? What if they had gotten lost and I never found them again?

And yet, they made it. They never gave up. They were able to find their way back no matter just how much hell and high water they might have encountered. I look back down at them. Pinhead, Blade, and Six Shooter- their faces are unmoving, wooden facial features permanently molded to them. There's no sign of any comfort in their sockets. Anybody else would just be scared by the way they look. They wouldn't see how close they are too each other, the intelligence that lurks in their tiny heads, the stories they all carry. The puppets have lived through some of the greatest trials of history, but nobody else would see that. All they would see is a bunch of creepy toys, something they wouldn't hesitate to throw away, not even trying to look beyond appearances.

How did they react when they discovered Toulon was dead? If they ever did discover it? Were they scared, hopeful that it wasn't true, angry at the possible feeling of abandonment?

Then it hits me.

These puppets...they're just like me. Alone, misunderstood. Outcasts trying to make it in a shallow world that seeks to drown everything in it. Judged and excluded because of someone else's opinion that everyone else is too quick to adapt like a flock of sheep. Trying to survive each day without the help of their guide, their creator to let them know everything's okay.

I feel tears prick my eyes again when I realize just what they must have gone through. They're not creepy puppets, they're not ugly. They're mere children, children who have had to travel who knows where and go through who knows what, having no one but each other. No one but each other in this cruel, cruel world.

Maybe that was why I became so attached to them so quickly. I know how they felt...and they know how I felt. Just what it's like to go through hell and have no one but yourself when the world turns its back on you.

I need them. More than anything. They mean the world to me.

I look down at them, giving them a smile. I adjust how the boys are settled to take each and every one of them into my arms (though Torch struggles a bit). I hold them tight to me, stroking their heads.

"It's going to be okay," I say through my tears, "I promise I'll never leave you guys. For however long you want, I'll be here. Just please...stay with me. That's all I ask. As your...as your friend, just stay with me and love me."

* * *

 _Note: Sorry to leave you all off on that cliffhanger last chapter. Been in Hawaii for a week -_-'_


	17. News

**Chapter XVI: News**

After my little half hour cuddling session or so, I finally tear myself away from the puppets and force myself to get ready. I shower quickly and run a comb through my hair to try and make it presentable before throwing on the familiar uniform of a black polo and khakis.

I go downstairs, figuring I might as well try and find something to eat if I'm going to be on my feet for eight hours. Paul's sitting at the table, reading the newspaper as he sips his coffee. I stop in the doorway, not looking forward to any interaction today. Taking a deep breath, I walk past him, trying not to look in his direction as I bend down to get the toaster out of the cupboards. I can feel his gaze on my back.

He grunts, "What're you all dressed up for?"

I keep my back to him. I really don't want to argue this morning.

"I-I have to go work," I mumble. I put the toaster on the counter, fiddling with the plug.

"Oh."

An awkward silence starts to stretch between us. I put a piece of cinnamon raisin bread in and toast it for about a minute. I keep my head down when I get to table the. As I sit down, Paul stands up and gathers his things. I can feel his eyes on me like the sun beating down on my back.

"Gaelin...about yesterday..." he says.

I go still, refusing to look at him.

Honestly, its shocking to even me that I have the capacity to get that upset. I can't even remember the last time I ever yelled at someone like that. I do feel bad, I really do. I know I was upset at Kailani for the most part and most of the things I said to Paul were unfair and that I was taking out most of my anger on him and that he didn't deserve what I said. I may not like the things he says, but I don't hate him. I could never hate him. He's good to us and he's been there ever since Dad died. It's just that when he said the thing about Goselyn, I couldn't take it. It was like the final string had snapped.

I'm just so _tired_ of people always getting on me.

For once, I wish I can just go about my life without always being judged.

I don't say anything, just staring at the crumbs on my plate. Out of my peripheral, I can see him tugging at his tie, like this is just as hard for him to get the words out.

"I'm...sorry."

I look up at him, thinking at first that I just imagined what I heard.

He looks really uncomfortable; his hands keep squeezing on his briefcase and now it's his eyes that refusing to lock with mine. He rubs his head before meeting my stare.

"I didn't...think about what you were going through and...didn't...take into...consideration...for your...feelings," Paul stammers over his words, like he might just choke on them.

A thought flies through my head that he's probably only saying this because Mom made him after their huge fight last night. I grimace at the thought of it, having overheard it when Mom left me to go to sleep- I can't remember the last time I heard her be that furious. Like, I mean outright screaming and threats of kicking him out furious.

It makes me feel terrible. I don't mean to spawn fights, I don't want to get everyone upset.

The feel of someone's hand on my shoulder startles me out of my thoughts, and I look up to see him looking down at me, his face twisted in...I think it's regret?

"I'm not trying to be mean. You and your sister mean the world to me. You know that, right?" he asks.

I nod numbly, "I-I know."

He just nods, like it's enough, before he puts his jacket on and walks out of the kitchen. I don't turn around, hearing him walk through the front door as it clicks behind him. I just sit there, fiddling with my toast, my appetite gone as quick as it arrived.

Well...that's a start, I guess.

* * *

"Hey, you okay?" Carter asks to the right.

I look up from sorting the glasses in the rack to find him standing a bit over me, his brows furrowed in worry as he holds a stack of clean plates. I shrug, looking down at the rack.

"Yeah...I've had a long week," I mutter, not really wanting to get into specifics.

Carter nods, "It has been awfully slow."

"You tell me," Raul, our dishwasher, says from over by the sinks, "First my car gets hit by some cabrón when I'm in the round-a-bout of all things, then my landlady somehow loses my rent check, and now I'm pretty sure the garbage disposal is broken."

I smile, taking a handful of silverware and dumping it in the sanitation container. I hear Carter sigh, though he says nothing as he wipes down the trays. He has a thing for repairing things, and ever since he found out that the guy Grant hired to install the new disposal machine was a total quack that left exposed wiring all over the place- though Grant refuses to let Carter anywhere near it- it eats at him like it's conspiring against him.

Picking up an empty container, I rush back into the dining room, trying to clear off the dirty dishes as fast as I can. I feel Grant staring at me from his place on the podium, though I keep my head down, making sure to place the dishes in the bin as quietly as possible, lest we get complaints from the customers. I hold the bin under my arm and speedwalk back into the kitchen, overhearing Carter and Raul still talking, though Carter is now kneeling by the supplies rack, gathering napkins and clean forks onto a clean tray.

"-then she tells me to call them and make sure they are waiting right by the benches inside, and to double check the car before I get in, and she even calls me before I can even get Mariza buckled in!" Raul exclaims, pushing a new rack of dishes through the washer.

Carter says, "Dude, how you ever put up with a girl like that with absolutely no chill is beyond me."

I set down the bin and start to organize everything in different racks and containers.

"Aw, but can you blame her? She grew up in Juarez of all places, she's had to be on edge her whole life. Especially with that girl that got killed last night being so close to us, she was about ready to get a U-Haul right then and-"

Something about his sentence catches me off guard, and suddenly there's some sort of unpleasant feeling settling in my stomach.

"Wait, what?" I ask.

Carter and Raul both look at me.

"A U-Haul," Raul explains, "You know, the big moving space that attaches-"

"No, no that. You said something about killing."

He raises his eyebrows, "You haven't heard the news? Some poor girl on Park Ridge got murdered last night!"

Carter shakes his head, "She was so young, too. Like, only sixteen. In fact, I think they said she went to your school, Gaelin."

I don't know why, but that statement suddenly makes the unpleasant feeling skyrocket, and a blanket of freezing dread settles on my shoulders, like there's something I should more of, but don't want to.

My jaw stutters, the words refusing to come out.

"Did...did they give a n-name?"

Raul scratches the side of his head, the brown stubble of his undercut making a light scraping sound. "Mahea, Makani, something like that? It was Polynesian, that much I know-"

"Makoa?" I question, "Kailani Makoa?!"

"Yeah, that was the one. You know her?"

I don't answer.

My heart stops. Suddenly, I can't breathe.

Everything suddenly feels...unreal. Like I've unplugged from reality right then. My mouth feels dry and there's a giant lump in my throat. A burning feeling erupts in my gut. It almost hurts, like I'm going to boil alive at any second from the inside.

Kailani's...dead?

Who...who could have...

Before you ask, no, I'm not happy about it. Kailani treated me badly and I hated her with every fiber of my being- especially after yesterday- but I would never want her to actually die. No matter how many times I thought about hurting her or doing something bad, at the end of the day, it's an absolutey horrible mindset to have and even though she hurt me far too many times to count, I remind myself she was still someone's kid. I wouldn't wish death even on the worst scum of the planet.

But to hear that it actually happened- that she was actually intentionally killed- is surreal. It just doesn't seem like it should be possible. This is Kailani we're talking about, for God's sake!

"Gaelin?"

A hand on my shoulder brings me back, and I look up see Carter looking at me in worry. It occurs me all that I'm feeling lightheaded.

"You all right there, kiddo? You're looking like you might faint."

I try to take a breathe, "I...I knew her."

Carter's eyes widen like this is some deep revelation and gives my shoulder a squeeze, "Oh, oh!...Oh Gaelin, I'm so sorry."

But I don't hear him. I feel numb.

Death has always been a touchy subject for me, something that is way too close for comfort, especially ever since Dad died. Knowing that someone- despite our relationship- that I know is gone now too, all I think of is that sickening realization, that it's much closer than I want to know. I don't feel joy. I don't feel sorrow.

All I feel is...emptiness.


	18. Branded

_Note: There's been a small scene added to the 'Promise' chapter, a dream sequence Gaelin has. I've been planning to put one in there the whole time I was mapping out future chapters (more like it will appear later on) but I completely forgot to put it in while I was writing the actual chapter -_-'_

* * *

 **Chapter XVII: Branded**

Sunday night I try to distract myself with writing my report. But every time I try to focus on reading and explaining the lack of efficiency of immigration laws and identification systems, all my mind comes back to is the fact that Kailani is dead. Dead and gone.

And finally out of my hair.

If this were some sort of teen soap opera horror movie, I'd probably be jumping for joy and celebrating the fact that at least I won't get bothered anymore. But I don't. I'm not necessarily sad or full of grief, but I'm not happy either. I'm just..knowing, I guess. I look over at where the puppets are busy looking over the same book of legends they had shown me a few weeks ago. They're really obsessing over the Sutekh passage.

How did Blade and the other two get away? Were they there when the murderer got to Kailani? Or did they get out of her grasp long before her demise? Did anyone see them? I wish I could ask them, but at the same time I'd rather not know. Times like this make it frustrating that they can't talk in sentences.

My phone screen lights up and it vibrates on my desk. I look at it.

 _Audrey: Hey, did you hear about what happened?_

Normally I'd be excited that she's messaging me. But I can't find myself able to feel anything.

 _About Kailani? Yeah_

 _Audrey: How...do you feel about it?_

I pause. My thumbs float over the the keypad, unable to find the words. I look at the wall, trying to search for the word that best describes it right now. After a moment, I look back at the phone and slowly type out a response.

 _I really don't know. I mean, I'm not over the moon, if that's what you mean. But...I don't know._

She doesn't respond. A few minutes go by, and I'm starting to think she's going to let it go before the little bubble with the glowing dots shows up.

 _Audrey: oh...I was just wondering because...I heard about what she did to your stuff._

 _Audrey: I'm sorry that that happened to you, Gaelin. If you want to talk about it, I'm all ears._

Oh...so the cat's out of the bag. My stomach drops. Now everyone knows. She must think I'm such a freak, such a wimp for just letting it happen.

I start to respond. _You don't have to be. You weren't the one that did anything_.

With that, I lay down. I don't want pity. I don't want to be comforted.

I just want to sleep. Sleep and forget.

* * *

Obviously word has gotten around over the weekend, and the halls are abuzz with gossip. Everyone's gathered in one group or another, chatting about what this person heard, or who this person saw. Turning the rumor mill faster and faster until it's enough to give you whiplash.

I keep my head hung low and my hands in my pocket. I don't want to talk to anyone about Kailani, especially the fact that Kailani's dead. Death is something that I've had far too personal of an encounter with, and I wish to avoid getting any more personal with it at any cost. I treck through the hallways, mind only focused on getting to my locker and getting my things as fast as I can. I have to stop, though, when I feel someone's hand clamp down on my shoulder, and I peer over to see Virgil standing behind me.

"Eh, Gaelin, come to the cafeteria and sit with us."

It's more of a demand than a suggestion. I try to wriggle out of his grip, find an excuse to be left alone. "I-I got to get g-going though-"

"Come on," he just replies, "Audrey's waiting for you."

Damn me and my hormones. I'd rather not conversate this morning, but the mere mention of Audrey's name- the mere mention that _Audrey_ is _waiting_ for _me,_ is enough to make me follow Virgil to the cafeteria, the familiar faces I sat with on Friday all gathered around at the same lunch table, all of them looking like a giant funeral party with their all black attire. Audrey sees me and Virgil and scoots over to give me a place to sit down. Before I go over to her, something catches my eye.

I stop in my tracks at the look of two uniformed officers standing near the edge of the hallway, currently conversing with Mr. Rog.

"What are the police doing here?" I question as I sit down next to her.

Audrey turns around and catches where I'm staring. "Probably asking questions, trying to find clues as to who did it."

Something in me twists uncomfortably at that sentence.

"Clues? Do...do they think it was someone here?"

"I wouldn't deny it," one of Audrey's friends, a Native American girl with choppy lilac hair and two lip piercings, says, "From what I hear, they don't have much to go on. Like, there was absolutely no evidence of a murder weapon or any sign of a murderer in the first place. Like she was offed by a ghost or something."

Kimberly Scott, who has science with me, interjects, "Don't let Holden hear you say that. Word is that he's basically gone McGruff the crime hound since he found out."

At the mention my heart twists. Of course, Holden. He probably would've been one of the first people to learn what happened to Kailani. Part of me wants to know how he's holding up. Another part, though, has a shameful satisfaction. _Good_ , that part thinks, _Now he knows what it's like to lose someone._

I try to push those thoughts to the back of my mind. They're mean and hurtful. Holden's a dick, but still.

Before I have a chance to voice this, though, I hear someone run up behind me, the telltale squeak of rubber soles on the tile floor loud and echoing through the cafeteria. Suddenly, before I know it, I feel someone grab the back of my head and yank it back, before shoving it forward, making my face smash against the table.

"AGH!-" My yelp of pain is cut off as the hand on my head suddenly yanks at my hood, forcing me upward and turning me around before I find myself slammed against the table, a pair of hands now at my collar. I struggle against the iron grip, pain radiating in my nose as I squint to see Holden's furious blue eyes.

" _You've got some fucking nerve showing your face around here!"_ He roars at me as he presses me against the table.

"Get the hell off of him, Holden!" Audrey yells as she jumps up and pushes at him, but Holden's like solid rock as he continues to hold me down. His knuckles are digging into my neck and I squirm trying to free myself. I can feel blood running down the sides of my face from my nose. Virgil throws his arms around Holden's waist and tries to yank him away, but Holden's rooted to the spot.

" _Thought you were real fucking slick, didn't you?!"_ He snarls, his teeth grit, " _Thought I wouldn't find out, huh, you little shit?! You sick little bastard, coming in here showing your face after what you did!"_

"I didn't do anything!" I choke, "Leave me alone!"

I start kicking at him. "What's going on here?!" I hear Mr. Rog yell from nearby, and suddenly everything's a mess of fabric as I see several arms wrap around the two of us, pulling us apart. Virgil stands in front of me, him and Josh Hawkins standing in front of me like two gothic bouncers while Audrey and a few of the girls hold out napkins to me, trying to dab the blood from my nose. Holden's being held back by Tony and Bruce Cummings, him staring down Virgil. Mr. Rog comes into view, looking between us in disbelief.

"Mr. Loftis, what on Earth has gotten into you!" He jeers, "Assaulting your fellow students?! I ought to have the police back here and have you arrested!"

Holden snaps back, "Who you should arrest is _this_ fucking sicko for murdering my girlfriend!"

My eyes widen. "I didn't kill anyone! I didn't even know what happened until the next day!"

"Oh, fucking spare me!" He yells, "I know you wanted her dead the moment she first talked to you! You couldn't stand the fact she broke your stupid fucking toy and you wanted her to pay! We all saw it! Seems a little too coincidental that she destroyed your little dollies and you ran out of school and she ends up dead that very night! So don't feed me your fucking bullshit, Killough!"

"That's not true!"

"Oh shut the fuck up already!"

"ENOUGH! Both of you!" Mr. Rog yells, a vein visibly popping against his neck. He shoots me a glare, before stating carefully, "Mr. Berringwood, Ms. Losnedahl, please escort Mr. Killough to the nurse."

"How are you just going to let him fucking-!"

"I would suggest you leave immediately, Mr. Loftis, before I have to call security and have them escort you out themselves," he bites, "And considering your...previous antics, I doubt the police would be kind enough to hear you out."

That stirs some 'oooohs' from everyone else, and Holden stares at him for a moment, like he's contemplating giving Mr. Rog a swing too. But he just clicks his tongue defiantly, throwing his bag over his shoulder and marching towards the doors with Tony behind him, though not before he throws me a menacing glare before he exits. Everyone makes way for him, parting like the Red Sea.

There's absolute silence in the cafeteria.

They're all staring at me.

Judging me.

I feel so small. Like I'm Alice in Wonderland and just drank the shrinking potion.

Mr. Rog just nods his head and walks away from us. I glare at his back as he walks away. Incompetent bastard. Everyone else seems to take that as a sign to resume their daily school day, albeit slowly and not without one last stare where I lie against the table.

"I...I didn't do it," I mumble, staring at the floor.

Audrey helps me up, "Don't listen to him, Gaelin. He's an idiot."

It doesn't make me feel better.

It doesn't do anything at all.

* * *

 _A/N: So sorry to say everyone, unfortunately after this week updates may be less and less frequent than they have been. I'm starting school on Monday, so I will not have as much time to write as I have had._


	19. A Pariah Made

**Chapter XVIII: A Pariah Made**

They said it was some kid from another school.

They said it was a jilted lover of her mother's who wanted her out of the way so it could just be the two of them.

They said _48 Hours_ was getting involved.

They said she was still alive but in a vegetative state.

They said it was all fake and she was staging it to try and get a job at this horror magazine.

They said she was sacrificed as part of a cult ritual.

They said it was a hit man.

They said the killer had been caught and was under police protection.

They said she deserved it.

They said that I did it.

Maybe they had their suspicions, maybe they decided it from the beginning, maybe they didn't even think to look into it. But after bearing witness to Holden's whole episode in the cafeteria, everyone made up their minds and decided that I was to blame for what happened to Kailani.

It didn't matter that I had an alibi, that I wasn't a suspect, and it wouldn't matter if I tried to explain that to them. They made up their minds, they made their verdict.

The minute I step through the doors, it feels like I've just walked into a cemetery. All conversations cease like someone just pressed pause on the music player of life, and though I keep my head down I know they're all staring at me. Their eyes feel almost suffocating. I get to my locker, focusing only on the small clicking of the lock as I get it open and get my textbooks. They're whispering. It's like dozens of bees buzzing around.

Nobody looks at me. Not directly in the eye at least. No, they settle for tearing their eyes away the second mine land on them, or the indirect glare of disgust aimed either behind me or above my forehead. As I make my way through the halls, they part like the Red Sea, inching out of my way as if I' m such leper out to give them all a flesh eating disease.

It doesn't stop. All throughout class, all throughout the hours, they continue to stare, to judge.

I hear their hushed voices, their jabbering.

It's unbearable. The feel of constant staring, the buzzing of harsh whispers, I feel like I'm going to go fucking insane by the time second period is done.

I end up not eating lunch. Just looking at the cafeteria gets me this feeling of getting all claustrophobic, like the silence can be physically suffocating, and I'd rather not have to deal with Tony or anyone else who wants to use me as a punching bag today. I just sit in the office until the secretary throws me out.

I haven't seen Holden around, either.

According to the rumors, he tried breaking into someone's car to find evidence- apparently he's been doing that to whoever he think is a suspect- and the security guard caught him. Out of 'consideration for the safety of the student body and his own wellbeing in his emotional state' they suspended him for two weeks.

I just want this all to be a dream.

Just let me wake up and have my life back. My dignity, my pride, my fucking reason for living.

* * *

The wind rattles through my bones as I approach Mr. Frost's house. The cold of the door pierces my knuckles as I knock, and within seconds they're numb.

After what happened a few weeks ago, this is one of the very last places I ever want to be. Thinking about what he said still gets to me, even now.

Like, I know I'm not perfect. I know that Josie is in as much pain as I am. But if it were that easy to change, I would have done it months ago. Some old coot with a walker isn't going to just make it all go away.

Instead of Mr. Frost's wrinkled scowl appearing in the doorway, however, I'm thrown off guard when the door if flung open to reveal some random dude. I stare back at him as he looks at me, his face showing he obviously hasn't seen me before. He looks somewhere in his late twenties, maybe early thirties. His hair's auburn and is slicked back, and his eyes are the most unsettling shade of green I've ever seen. Like polished cat's eye; they make all the freckles scattered across his face seemer darker, somehow. In the dark that comes from the house, he sticks out in his tie dye shirt and lounge pants.

We stare at each other for a moment, before something flickers in his eyes and he smiles. "Aw! You must be Josie's brother!"

I'm still frozen and staring at him like a dumbass, so an uncomfortable beat passes before I realize he's addressing me, shoving my hand down. "Oh, uh, y-yeah."

"Name's Isaac, Isaac Haymore!" He greets jovially as he sticks his hand out. I reluctantly give mine. His palm is warm and soft. His nails are nice. "I'm Mr. Frost's grandson, though she's probably already told you that, am I right?"

'Probably' is an understatement. The way Josie talks about him, you'd think she just saw the third coming of Christ.

"Uh, yeah," I say, slowly shaking his hand.

" _If it's McNaulty"_ I hear Mr. Frost call somewhere from the house, " _Tell him he'll get his stupid gnomes back when he fixes my damn hedges!"_

Isaac looks back with a look of disbelief, his brows furrowed and his mouth twisted. He rolls his eyes and shakes his head before looking back to me, pointing behind him with his thumb. "You want to come in? I could make you some hot chocolate if you want."

The offer is very tempting, but I remember back to last summer when I came in to help Mr. Frost fix his sink. The heavy scent of sandalwood and lemon polish was so strong that I just about got high from merely standing in the kitchen. Deciding against making a fool of myself, I just shake my head. "N-no, that's okay, I'm fine."

Isaac looks at me, probably seeing that it's an obvious lie, if my freezing cold, completely numb hands and ice-like cheeks are anything to go off of. But he doesn't say anything, leaning back against the door and crossing his arms. He gives me a small smile.

"So, uh," I mutter, trying to find a way to ease the awkward silence. It doesn't work, "How long are you in town for?"

"Oh, actually, I'm moving in!" he exclaims, "Grandad's looking into retirement homes, and the house needs some fixing up, and I was kinda getting bored in my old small town, so I thought: 'eh, what the hell?'"

"Oh," I repeat. I'm really bad at conversation. The silence grows awkward again, so I just decide to stare down at my shoes until then. I can feel Isaac staring at me. I wiggle my toes, trying to get some blood back into them.

Isaac speaks up, "You know, Josie talks about you a lot."

That makes my head perk up. "R-really?"

"Yeah, all the time! She really looks up to you," he finishes with a smile.

I blush, feeling a little bashful. Josie looks up...to me? Her depressed, disassociated, weird train wreck of a brother?

"Yeah. Speaking of which, she should be done with her bath by now. I'll go get her," he says as he turns to head back inside, turning his head to look at me over his shoulder. "You sure you don't want to come in?"

I shake my head. Better not if I don't want to risk flipping out on Mr. Frost. Isaac looks for a few more seconds before he shrugs and goes back in the house. I blow out a frosty breath. My fingers are hurting from the numbness. Josie comes running out, arms full of dolls, as she stops in front of me and digs into her shirt.

"Gaeley, look what Isaac gave to me!" she exclaims as she pulls something out of her collar. I look down, holding out my hand to get a clear look of whatever is dangling on the chain around her neck. It's a little translucent blue crystal shape, a little silver cage on the top keeping it on the chain. A star shaped charm attaches it to the chain, a little row of rainbow colored dots lining one side.

I furrow my brows. Is this real?

"It's opalite," Isaac responds as if reading my thoughts, "I didn't think it would be wise to give her a real gem when she's so young, but she saw my collection and wanted one and I just couldn't say no."

"And it matches yours!" Josie responds happily, pointing to his neck.

I look at Isaac, and to prove her point, he pulls a chain from around his own neck. The crystal is nearly identical, except its an opaque purple.

"Yep, and I have plenty more to show you when you come over next time!" he says happily, giving Josie a wide grin.

As we say our goodbyes and start to head back to the house, I look over my shoulder. Isaac's still standing there, watching us go. He smiles and waves, and I give him a half hearted one. Josie is still talking about him, telling me about how large and pretty his gemstone collection is, and how he's apparently an 'indigo child' and can see auras (those people are still a thing?) and how 'oh please, please, pretty please, Gaeley, can we go over there Thursday?' and how she promises to be good and overall is completely over the moon for this guy.

I'm distracted, thinking back to what he told me. Josie looks up to me. She talks about me to other people, presumably in a good light.

It's not much, but it's good to know there's one person who hasn't deemed me a totally hopeless case yet.


	20. Interrogation

**Chapter XIX: Interrogation**

Jester's made himself comfortable on my shoulder again as I struggle to complete my math homework. I guess logarithms and slopes is really interesting to a wooden toy who's been awakened after decades.

Or, it could be a little more interesting, if he didn't seem to be taking pleasure in the fact I can't understand this shit to save my life.

I sigh in frustration as I punch in the numbers on my calculator, only to come up with the same number that I have the past six times- a number that is way off from the answer that the back of my textbook gives. I look at my notes and the explanations again, but it still gives the formula I've been trying to follow, still looking like a foreign language all the same.

"Stupid text—urgh!" I grumble to myself as I furiously start erasing my answer. I underestimate the force and end up tearing the paper right in the middle. "Goddammit!"

Jester makes a sound of disapproval and taps the back of my head, as if he's trying to swat me for cursing. I scoff and peer at him, "Oh you don't like that? Well, YOU try doing what you're told over and over again, only to somehow keep getting something wrong, and then we'll talk."

He just throws his hands up and makes a sound in the back of his throat. I roll my eyes, a smirk coming on as I look back down at my paper. Just then, there's a knock at my door. I quickly throw a glance at everyone so they hide under the bed, reaching up and placing Jester on my desk just as the door is thrown open without me giving the okay. It's Paul. He has this expression on his face that's a bit unreadable.

"The police are here," he just says.

I hesitate in getting up from my chair.

"W-what? Why?"

"They say they want to talk to you. Come downstairs."

That makes my heart start pounding.

I don't say anything, forcing myself to focus on the thinning patch on the back of Paul's head as I follow him down the stairs. Suddenly, it feels too hot. Too stuffy. My mouth feels dry. We head towards the kitchen, and my palms sweat at the sight of Mom standing against the counter, two uniformed officers sitting at the table. At the sound of our footsteps, they all look at us. I suddenly feel really small when the cops look at me.

The tension in the air is so thick, you can probably cut it with a knife.

One of them, Officer Brown, sits with his hands folded. His eyes are droopy and he has the indent of a scar across his right cheeks. His hands look roughly calloused and dried out. The other one, Officer Schultz, glares at me; obviously finding me automatically guilty. He's round and has a pig-like nose and looks like he's in desperate need of some Blistexx. I sit across from them, trying to sit up as straight as I can, but on the inside I'm a jumble of nerves. I keep my hands clasped to the edge of my seat, not knowing where else to put them.

Paul stands besides me, leaning on the counter. His arms are crossed and his expression is unreadable, though its obvious the gears in his head are turning. Mom, on the other hand, just looks pissed, shooting her own glare at the officers like she just wants to melt their heads off.

Officer Brown stars, "I know you must have many questions, Gavin-"

"It's Gaelin."

"But we're just looking for information, hoping to find some answers to put everyone's minds at ease," he finishes, "You understand, don't you?"

I don't nod. I just stare at him, before stuttering. "W-w-what information?"

"You are aware of how one of your schoolmates, Kailani Makoa, was murdered Friday night, are you not?" he asks. This time I do nod, not able to talk.

"Well, this is just routine per our investigation, trying to find answers to help bring her killer to justice and her family some comfort."

"We understand that, officers, and it is a very terrible thing what happened to that girl," Paul says, "But I fail to see how Gaelin has anything to do with it."

Officer Brown has a glint in his eye, like we're in a poker game and he has the hidden ace up his sleeve.

"Well, sir, we've had several statements given to us that over the last year or so, your stepson has had repeated contact with Kailani- rather, it's been clear to us that the contact was repeatedly antagonistic on Miss Makoa's end, though school administration has not reported any written incidents besides complaints by concerned students. In fact, we have several witness reports of an incident that occurred between them that very Friday, where she reported to have broken an belonging of your son's?" He flips through his notebook- "An antique doll, I believe?"

I hear Mom suck in a breath.

I can't even breathe.

Of course. That's why they're here.

Officer Brown turns to me, looking me straight in the eye, "This did happen, right Kaylynn-"

" _Gaelin_."

"-didn't it?"

I don't want to answer. My throat has a giant lump in it, so I just settle for nodding.

"Is that a yes?"

"Y-yes sir."

Officer Brown gets that glint in his eye again, and I can't tear myself away from those piercing eyes of his.

"It wasn't the first time that this happened, was it Gaelin? The first time that she harassed you?"

"No, sir."

"It must have been the breaking point, right? To see something of yours torn apart so carelessly? I get it, I do, it must have been too much, having to be her personal doormat every day," he narrates, like he's telling a story of my life rather than flat out asking me. I don't respond.

I stutter, "I-I-I-I don't get why-"

"Just seems a little too coincidental, that this happens and then she ends up dead the same night?" he clarifies. I don't say anything.

"My son is no murderer," Mom snaps.

"We're not saying he is, ma'am, but we have several witnesses to what happened. It's been made apparent that the two of them did not have the most positive of interactions with each other."

"I didn't do anything to Kailani," I shout, "I-I didn't want anything to happen to her, I-I-I'm not a killer!"

"So you didn't want her to pay for what she did?" Schultz speaks up, "You didn't think she deserved it? Must have really sucked when she damaged something that wasn't hers, didn't it?"

Mom bites back, her eyes bright like two blue stars, "How dare you! I ought to call your-"

"Maxine, Gaelin, settle down," Paul says.

"Paul, how can you-?!"

"Max, _please_."

Something about his tone makes Mom back down. I look at him, trying to plead with him. Please, not him too. Please, for once just be on my side. Paul doesn't look back, instead focusing his gaze on the officers. His lips have the barest hint of a frown.

"Officers, believe me, I understand that you have a job to do, and I hope for the best that you catch the scum that murdered that girl. However, there are some things I have noticed that bother me," he explains.

Officer Brown raises one of his eyebrows, "Like what?"

"Well first," Paul comes forward, "Since you seem completely sure my stepson is guilty and seek to intimidate him to the highest degree, I would think you'd at least come prepared with better questions. Actually, I'm surprised you didn't start off with the most obvious one: asking him where he was at the time of the murder."

Silence falls. All of us- the cops, Mom, me- stare at Paul with our mouths open.

"Hey, we didn't-" Officer Brown starts before Paul cuts him off.

"-I can tell you where he was. He was here the whole time. You see, Gaelin came home very upset over what happened at school. In fact he was so distraught that he stayed in his room the whole night, very distressed. He was still there around midnight when Maxine went to check on him. Now, this girl that was killed, if I remember correctly, she lived in Park Ridge, did she not? That's quite a ways away from here. Now, I don't know about you gentlemen, and no offense, Gaelin- but I find it a little more than impossible that a boy of his stature would be able to get all the way there, murder someone, and all the way back within the span of a few hours," he says, keeping his arms folded.

"He could have driven," Schultz tries to say.

"Gaelin doesn't drive," Mom comments, "Not since his father died."

It makes me flinch unconsciously. She's right. My therapist said it was probably a trigger of what happened.

"And not only that," Paul continues from there, "But Maxine parks her car in the garage, and both of them are quite old and noisy- so I assure you we would have heard it, as I'm honestly not a deep sleeper; and Gaelin can't drive a stick, so he sure as hell didn't take my car. And last time I checked, no one has said anything about seeing a vehicle whatsoever near the crime scene."

"Now hold on just one-"

"Tell me, gentlemen, is there anything or anyone that links Gaelin to the crime scene? A broken window? Footprints? A suspicious person matching his description lurking the premises?" Paul demands.

Brown stares at him before he forces out. "There was no evidence of forced entry, no."

Paul scoffs and looks to the ceiling for a second. "And do you happen to have any evidence against Gaelin? Any at all?"

"Mr. Saint Claire, we have several witness statements-"

"But do you have _evidence_ , sir? DNA, a murder weapon, hair fibers. Not the written yapping of a bunch of drama-addicted teenagers with nothing better to do than spread rumors."

"That's hardly appropriate."

"No, what's 'hardly appropriate' is you coming around here trying to scare my wife's poor kid into a false confession with nothing but mere words as your backup. You have no physical evidence, no witnesses who actually saw what happened, you don't even have a weapon on hand, from what I can tell. So unless you're telling me Gaelin managed to run all the way to Park Ridge, and has somehow broken the laws of science and started walking through walls, I fail to see what you're even doing here besides wasting my family and I's dinner time."

I stare at Paul, bewildered. This has to be some kind of dream. In no way am I sitting here with Paul not only defending me, but actually having the balls to go toe-to-toe with the cops. Even Mom looks surprised; her eyes are all wide and she has a hand to her chest like she's been spooked. Isn't that sad, that I'm actually surprised my stepfather is standing up for me?

But none of that matters, as all I can feel is shoulder dropping relief and immense happiness.

Brown and Schultz, on the other hand, both look like they're itching to pull the tazer on him. Schultz's neck veins are bulging and his face is all red, making him look more like a hog than before. Brown's lip is quivering. The bags in his eyes- geez, he must get even less sleep than I do- look like black eyes. He just huffs, before looking to his partner, slamming his notebook shut.

"We would like to search Gaelin's room."

"Why?" I ask. No, no, no, no, not with the puppets. If they find them...

"Absolutely not," Mom answers, "How do we know you won't set him up, planting stuff to make him look guilty?!"

"I can come back with a warrant," Brown threatens.

Paul just shrugs and gives him a nonchalant look. "Then by all means, please do. But until then, I think we're through here, officers."

Brown shoots him a look that makes it known he's not at all impressed with the sass. But he doesn't say anything as he gestures for Schultz to get up, both of them heading towards the door. Paul goes with them, opening the door for them. Mom and I watch them go. I meet his eyes, but he just nods before he slightly turns his head. "Oh, and officers?"

"The next time you want to throw heavy accusations like that at _my_ family, you better come a lot more prepared than _that_ ," Paul spits.

Officer Brown's mouth widens in shock. "Hey, we're just doing our job-"

"Then I would suggest maybe going back the academy and learning how to do it _right_!" Paul responds, before shutting the door in their face.

Mom and I look at each other, both of us clearly shocked. I don't think either of us have ever really seen this side of Paul before. He's just so...so...bold. I mean, he's always been a man of rule, everything in order and executed in a neat, orderly fashion. Though, I should suspect as much. The guy's a lawyer, after all.

Mom has this big, proud smile on her face as she walks over and gives him a kiss. Paul looks at her, rubbing her back before shooting his head towards me.

"Those guys try to come up to you again, you call me right away, understand?" He asks. I nod.

It's a good start. I mean, we still both have our issues to work out with each other, but it's a start, nonetheless.


	21. The Assault

**Chapter XX: The Assault**

 _ **KILLER**_

That's what greets me when I get to my locker at the end of the day. Its streakiness adds to the effect, the bright fuchsia color an eyesore against the brownish grey metal of the locker. It looks like it might be lipstick.

Scratch that, I _know_ its lipstick, based on the sole fact that Sadie wears this obnoxious color almost every single day. Of course she would do this.

I can feel everyone else staring at me, waiting with bated breath as they wait for a reaction. Hope for a reaction. Well, sorry to disappoint them, but I'm not in the mood to deal with this. After the police came by, I'm barely in the mood for anything anymore. All I want to do is get home and sleep.

Putting everything back in my locker, I just close and lock it and walk away without a second glance. God, don't they have something better to do than just stare at me like I'm some kind of fucking freak show?

As I walk out, I try to take comfort in the calm of the forest next to me. The ice is finally starting to melt, and the chirping of the birds coming out again is rather peaceful. I let out a breath, putting my hands in my pockets as I think back to school.

As much as I hate to admit it, even with all the isolation from everyone else, the absence of Kailani is...kind of nice. To go to class and not have to stress about being teased or mocked, to not be constantly manhandled and touched. To not have my things broken. The thought of Friday makes my fist clench. As much as I tried, Goselyn is well beyond repair and the only option I really have is to throw her remains away and start all over again on a new model. All that work...for nothing.

Thank god Blade and the others didn't end up like that. No way I'd be able to reconstruct them.

Suddenly, I get this feeling I'm being watched. I stop and look around. There's nobody out of there houses, the street is as quiet as a mouse. Except-

That's when I see the car that's only about a foot away from me. It's close to the curb, but I notice it's still on. I turn around, though I keep looking over my shoulder. Sure enough, it starts creeping, really slowly, trying to keep up with me.

I pick up the pace, speed walking. It speeds up.

I walk faster. It drives faster.

Oh god, I understand. I've seen enough movies. Whoever's in there has it out for me.

I start running. I don't look back, but I can hear it drive faster. I look to the woods. I know a shortcut that will get me to my backyard- I haven't walked that path in a few years because Mom was scared of the possibility of snakes or angry deer. Sucking in a breath, I break speed and pump my legs, only focusing on getting into the woods.

"HEY!" An angry voice from the car shouts. I hear door slamming, and then hear footsteps coming up to me. I don't look back.

Twigs snap under my feet. My left shoe gets wet when I splash in a puddle. I can hear the footsteps getting closer; they're heavy, pounding on the dirt like drums. I urge my legs to go faster despite the fire coursing through them. Don't look back, don't look back, don't look back-

Someone slams into my and tackles me, their arms wrapped around my torso. My knees burst with pain from the impact. We tumble, and it knocks the wind out of me. I cough, but before I can lift my head, something grabs at my shoulder and turns me around, only for me to get a heavy fist in the face.

Pain bursts in my jaw. Before I can comprehend it, though, I get another hit in the face. Then another.

I pull my knees up and try to shove whoever's on me off. I roll over onto my knees. Something is thrown over my head- a blanket or a sack of some kind- and it pulls me onto the ground. Then, they lunge.

Someone or some people hold my hands behind my back. I get hit in the face again.

And again, and again.

My face, my chest, my stomach, all targets. I double over when one fist slams right in my gut. My head knocks to the side as a hit in my cheek tears at it. I hear my nose snap, and for a second I just hear buzzing in my ears. I feel blood run down my nostrils. My eyebrow stings at the feel of the fabric brushing up against it. A hard object, maybe a ring, opens my bottom lip. They start pushing me against each other, before the arms push me to the ground. I try to stand up, only to scream when I feel a heavy boot stomp down on my wrist; it's for sure broken the way agony ripples up my arm.

Everyone joins in, kicking at me. Toes dig into my ribs; hot white pain blooms everywhere. I can't breathe. The bag is thick- my breathe makes it hot and muggy; I taste blood, the scent of iron making me dizzy and nauseous with the pain my stomach. Someone lifts me by the collar and makes me kneel- only for me to feel a giant knee in the face, the force throwing me onto my back. I try to curl up, but it's no use. Left, right, up, down, they just keep getting at me. I get kicked in the face, then another in my groin. One in my stomach almost makes me puke. A fourth in my side makes me unable to breathe, and for three seconds I feel like I'm suffocating. Someone straddles me and slams my head into the ground. Both my eyes hurt. They do it again, three times, four times. My head is spinning.

Then, the weight lifts. I'm lying on my stomach. I cough, gasp for breath. My wrist feels like it's on fire. I can feel blood on my face. I can barely see anything through the fabric of the bag. Someone kneels down next to me, grabbing me by the back of the neck.

"If I see your face again," Holden's voice growls into my ear, "I'll slit your fucking throat myself."

He shoves me down, and I just lay there. I hear them spit at me, before I hear footsteps. They grow distant. Then, silence.

I don't move. Everything hurts.

I reach up with my good hand, gritting my teeth against the pain in my right arm, yanking whatever is on my head off. It's a burlap sack, now spotted with red. My blood. I gulp for breath, grateful for the escape from the suffocating heat. I look around. I can barely see. My eyes feel swollen, one of them shut from something running into it. I wipe it away. Blood. Probably from a cut on my head.

I try to stand up. Its torture, every inch of me screaming in hurt. I almost fall down, my head is swimming so much.

Something rolls in my stomach, and I double over and puke. My lip hurts. I hold my sides, feeling like someone's jabbing me with a white hot poker. My shirt is stained with blood near the collar. My jeans are covered with dirt and shoe prints.

I try and flex my wrist. I cry out- it feels like I ran it through a gear machine. A bruise is already forming- my outer wrist is swelling up, the skin a patch of spilled ink with some purple and pink on the outer edges. I can't curl my fingers. My hand won't stop shaking. I cradle it against my chest as I try and pick up my bag. I'm only a few feet from home. I spit, the phlegm tinged pink with blood.

I limp, my legs feeling like jelly. My vision's going blurry. My head's rattling. Come on, Gaelin, just a few more feet.

Getting up on the porch almost makes me collapse, but I yell to ease the pain and force the door open.

My chest hurts. There's this weird ringing in my right ear. My eye is shut from the swell and blood.

I don't hear anyone.

 _Just get to your room_ , the voice in my head says, _Just get there and lay down and everything will be all right_.

Everything's not all right, though. I can't stand for much longer. I grip the railing until my knuckles are white, and pull myself up the stairs. Every step feels like I've just been hit with a wrecking ball. There's this sharp pounding against my skull, and my stomach feels like it's squeezing in on itself. The shapes go out of focus. Nothing but a bunch of colored blurs. I lean against the wall in the hallway.

My bag slides off my shoulder and hits my wrist, making me let out a scream. Just a few more feet, and there's my door. Almost there.

I have to turn the knob five times before I can finally get it open. As soon as it does, the strength flies right out of me and I find myself falling against the carpet, only managing a moan as pain hits me ten fold.

My head is getting fuzzy. I can't think straight. I hear a noise from the left and raise my head a little.

The puppets are running towards me.

I hear a voice, but it sounds like I'm underwater, unable to understand what it's saying.

Then, everything goes dark.


	22. Left Alone

**Chapter XXI: Left Alone**

" _Do...do you think he's going to be okay?"_

" _I...I don't know."_

" _Who do you think did it?"_

" _I don't know."_

" _W-why would anyone do that to him?"_

" _I don't_ know _, Jester."_

" _W-what if he doesn't come back? What if he's gone for too long and-and-"_

" _For God's sake, Jester, I don't know! Okay?!"_ Blade exclaimed as he threw his arms up. Jester's shoulders came up in something like a wince, and a part of him instantly felt bad for snapping. He cared for the little clown dearly, but Sutekh strike him down if his questions didn't grate some gears.

Blade looked at the clock on the nightstand. 7:14 in the evening. It was dark outside, the daylight long since faded, a light rain tapping against the window. As far as he could hear, the house was still empty- save for him and his companions. Though he did not have the ability to make facial expressions, the truth was that anxiety and worry was building up in his body, gnawing at his artificial bones.

Hours had passed since the master had burst into the room, his whole being a state of disarray as he stumbled into the room before promptly passing out right on the floor. Luckily, he hadn't been there too long- a young girl who appeared to be his younger sibling finding him soon after and alerting his parental guardians. Paramedics had since come and taken him to the hospital. All the while, Blade and the others could do nothing more than watch and hope his injuries were not fatal.

Was this what it must have been like for Tunneler and the others while he, Pinhead, and Six Shooter were gone?

" _Blade, don't yell at him. He's only trying to help,"_ Leech Woman scolded from her position on the corner of the bed. Her bright red lips were turned into a disapproving frown, though the constant fiddling of the hem of her dress suggested how she really felt.

The hook handed puppet let out a sigh of frustration as he brought his hook up and rubbed it against his nose, similar to the notion of if one were to rub the skin between their eyes.

" _He's right, though,"_ Six Shooter cut in, standing up from where he was twirling his guns on the bed, " _We're not gonna learn anything by just standing around with our thumbs up our asses. I say we do something!"_

" _We're not supposed to leave the room,"_ Pinhead interjected.

" _Because you of all people follow the rules soooo well,"_ Torch responded sarcastically, earning a glare from the two of them.

" _Even if we did, what are we supposed to do? We have zero clue of who is responsible,"_ Tunneler added as he sat against the nightstand.

" _Well what the hell do we do then?!"_ The cowboy bit back angrily, " _Sit here in a circle and sing the Lord's Prayer?!"_

" _Don't talk to him like that,"_ Jester turned and frowned at him.

Leech Woman held her hands out trying to calm the atmosphere, " _Hey, now let's not lose our heads here. Obviously the master's condition has rattled everyone's nerves here. He wouldn't like to come back and find us fighting-"_

" _IF he comes back, you mean."_

" _Oh, shut up Torch!"_ Blade yelled.

" _STOP. All of you,"_ Pinhead said loudly.

An awkward and heavy silence settled on the small mechanical group. No one said anything, guilt quickly replacing any exasperation that had been present before.

Blade hated this feeling, this...this _helplessness_. After all they had been through, after all the betrayal and using they had experience...to know that they could always been in a position where nobody could do anything had to be the worst.

" _If only we had enough fluid, enough time to bring_ him _back_ ," Jester mumbled quietly, seemingly moreso to himself than the others, " _Maybe...maybe he would know what to do._ "

Looking up at him, Blade noticed the forlorn expression that held settled on the harlequin's face. He followed his gaze, his hollow eyes landing on the trunk that they had arrived in. Decapitron's unmoving body lay atop, his metallic, reflective head blank faced and his limbs dangling off the edge. A bittersweet understanding filled Blade as he nodded in agreement with Jester.

Decapitron. The very last of them to be created. The holder of the spirit of Father himself.

And also the only one that the master did not give the formula to help him awaken. Not that it was his fault by any means. A vague memory flashed in Blade's mind- one recalling Father's words when they were first shown the puppet, something about being needed only in dire consequences.

He wanted to resurrect him. Oh, how badly he wanted to resurrect him, if only to hear his dear father's reassuring voice one more time. But Blade wasn't naive or careless. He knew better. They didn't have enough serum- they barely had enough to last the rest of them for the next month or two, and that was if they moved as little as possible- for a process as complicated as Decapitron's. It was too dangerous, it had to be timed just right. Neither of which were a possible assurance without the master's assistance.

" _We_ will _bring him back,"_ Blade said in determination, " _We've lost too many of our own. We won't lose another, especially after..."_

He trailed off, a familiar ache presenting itself as he thought back to one particular puppet their father had made- one that out of all of them, should have been the biggest candidate to be standing where they were now. He turned as he felt a hand on his shoulder, finding Pinhead looking down at him, his one eye full of understanding and comfort.

" _We all miss Shredder Khan, Blade."_

Jester nodded in agreement, giving the handle of Blade's knife hand a squeeze. He heard the others come up and gather around, all of them having a solemn moment of silence for their fallen friend. It was something that still could spark a flame of anger and hatred in all of them; Blade stiffened when he thought back to that day that they had awakened under Gallagher, looking for old mongol puppet in question- one of the oldest and most worn of their small family- spending hours trying to find him, only for a sick realization to come upon them when they realized he had mostly likely been forgotten to be put in the trunk, how he most likely was taken to God knows where when the hotel room was renovated. Definitely beyond living, with no serum to be given to him.

He thought back to Master. He was quite young, but his eyes held a weight that no young person should ever have to carry. He was a little bit distant and broken, awkward and unprepared for their arrival for sure, but still willing to lend them a kind hand. How he cradled them and cared for them after he and Six and Pinhead had been taken. How he broke down in tears when reminiscing of his late father. How he spoke highly of his little sister and mother and his vast doll collection, carefully cleaning and organizing each one as if they were small children.

Now, he was gone, a big possibility he might never come back.

Something akin to pain bloomed in Blade's chest, if such a thing were possible for something with no internal organs. After all the times they had been used, all the kind souls that had been lost far too early. Their father, Danny, Peter, Rick and Suzy, Robert...

No, they would not lose another one of their kind.

They would bring Decapitron back and figure out what happened to the Master.

They would make the sick bastards who hurt him pay. Dearly.

* * *

" _...three broken ribs, oblique fractures in the right radius and ulna, subconjuctival hemorrhage in the left eye..."_

There's some sort of faint ringing in my ears. I can hear people talking, but only bits and pieces. They keep fading in and out.

" _\- concussion, but we won't know if there's any auditory or visual damage until he wakes up..."_

The voices are becoming more apparent. I start to feel something- it's hard to explain, but it's kind of like when you become aware you're waking up.

" _\- how you aren't going out looking for them!"_

I can hear Mom's voice. It's high pitched, and hurts to listen to a little.

There's someone else's voice. I think I should recognize it, but at the moment, I can't put my finger on it.

" _..._ don't understand why you keep bothering us instead of doing your job!"

"Mrs. Saint Claire, we are doing the best we can. However, at the moment Gaelin is the only witness who can give us a lead."

"I already gave you a lead! I already told you that boy who attacked him in the cafeteria, how is that not good enough?! If he's willing to attack him in front of everybody, there should be no doubt he'd do it when nobody's looking _!"_

"Ma'am, this is just routine _-"_

"Like hell it is! First, you come up in my house and try to bully my son into a false confession in order to get a lead on your sham of an investigation, and now, when he's the victim, you want to just stand around like a bunch of buffoons! You get out of here, and unless it's news you've arrested the delinquents who've done this to him, I don't want to see you in this room, ever _!"_

Something settles over me, and I groan at the feeling of dull pain all over my entire body. I try to open my eyes, but the combination of bright overhead lights and my eyes being almost completely swollen shut makes me clench them tightly back shut, which only makes my whole face hurt. I moan again- there's a dull throbbing in my right arm- and I hear Mom's voice again.

"Gaelin?" Then there's the sound of her heels clacking towards me.

I feel her cool palm on my face, and struggle against the puffiness to crack them open again just a tiny bit. The lights darken her silhouette, but her dark blue eyes are clear as day. Her brow is so crinkled it lookslike it's going to crack any second. There's bags under her eyes.

My throat feels like sandpaper. My lips and cheeks feel all fuzzy- obviously swollen too, and there's this nasty acidic taste in my mouth. "M-m-mom?"

"Oh, baby, thank god!" Mom sobs as I feel her other hand grab my left hand tightly, sharply turning around and calling, "Paul, get the doctor! He's awake!"

Doctor? Where am I?

Mom's hair is petting my hair, her nails on my scalp making a tingle run through me, making goosebumps appear. Paul's thinning head and an unfamiliar looking Asian guy in scrubs come into my view.

"Gaelin, I'm Doctor Rhee," the guy in scrubs explains, "Do you know where you are?"

No. I try to think of what I was doing beforehand. Everything's really fuzzy, though, and my head hurts from trying to find the answer. I squeeze my eyes shut and shake my head. "N-no."

"Well, you're in the hospital," Doctor Rhee says to me, "Looks like you got really roughed up. We're just going to do a few tests to see if everything is still working properly, okay?"

I don't say anything.

He shines a light in my eyes. It hurts to look at. I squeeze them shut again, though that in turn makes them ache. I turn my head to the side and I feel something get shoved in my ear.

"Gaelin, can you tell me how many fingers I'm holding up?"

I peak through my eyelashes. It looks like three. Maybe four. The edges around his fingers are blurred. It makes me dizzy looking at them.

"I don't know," I whisper, "Everything's blurry."

Doctor Rhee nods as he looks to Paul and Mom. "Well, he definitely has a concussion, but luckily there seems to be no damage to his hearing. His vision may be damaged, though. Possibly permanent."

"Oh, god," Mom chokes, turning away.

"Is he going to need surgery?" Paul asks.

"Well, no," the doctor answers, "The most severe injury is his wrist, so definitely don't mess with that for the next few months. But fortunately, he shows no signs of internal bleeding, and with plenty of rest and just taking it easy, his ribs should completely recover on their own. I'd like to keep him overnight, though, just to make sure we're out of the danger zone."

Everything starts to hurt. My back feels stiff, my wrist is starting to pulse, my stomach twists.

The doctor leaves, and Paul comes up, him and Mom both fawning over me like I'm a newborn or something.

"Sweetie, I'm so glad you're awake!" Mom's choking up again, "We were so scared. You wouldn't wake up, and there was so much blood and-and-"

"Max," Paul interrupts as he pulls her into a hug, "It's okay."

Mom cuddles into him, breaking off into tears. I try to sit up further, but that makes me feel like I'm getting run over, so I fall back onto the bed. I'm so confused.

"What...how...I get here?" I wheeze out.

"Josie found you and called us after she dialed 911," Paul explains softly, "We dropped her off at Mr. Frost's house. We...we didn't think she should see you in this condition."

Of course she did. It just always has to be the child to stumble upon the gory details.

But if Josie was the one to find me, and I was in my room- that I remember- then that means...

Oh, no.

I've got to get back. The puppets won't understand what happened. They won't be given the answers. They'll be left all alone for who knows how long. I have to make sure they're okay. That they won't do anything drastic.

I try to sit up, but just trying to push myself onto my elbows makes a tidal wave of pain sweep over me, my right wrist screaming in protest from the purple cast its been settled in. My head swims, and I feel like I'm going to pass out again.

"Oh, sweetie, don't try to move," Mom says sternly as she nudges me back into a lying position, pulling the thin sheet over me, "You need to rest."

"But..." I try to mumble, but my head is killing me. I can't get any words out.

My vision's starting to go black again, and it suddenly occurs to me that I'm exhausted. I dimly hear Doctor Rhee again, mentioning something about a sedative and helping me sleep, but I'm already gone before I hear anything else.


	23. Back Home

**Chapter XXII: Back Home**

The next day, the doctor gives me the all clear and I'm allowed to go home.

The drugs make my arms and legs feel like lead, but do nothing to ease the splitting feeling in my skull. I'm resting my head against the window, trying to get some dozing in to help ease it, when I hear Mom and Paul whispering up front.

"-And they're still not going to arrest him?"

"They can take him in for questioning, but until Gaelin is up for identifying him, there's not much else they can do," I hear Paul respond, his voice suddenly going into a growl, "Little white trash bastard roams around scot free."

Hearing that makes my heart drop. Holden's still out there. Him and Tony and all of them.

" _If I see your face again, I'll slit your fucking throat myself."_

I get a lump in my throat.

Before I have time to think about it, I feel the car park. Paul opens my door and makes a grab for me. "Come on, sport, let's get you inside."

Him and Mom have to guide me through the house, having to hold onto my arms and direct my steps like I'm a baby who just figured out who to walk. My vision's still a little blurry, so unless its in close range, everything appears like just a bunch of colored blobs.

When we pass by the mirror in the foyer, I finally get a look at the damage.

Both my eyes are blackened, dark purple bruising surrounding all the way from my cheekbones to the tops of my brows like badly smeared eyeshadow, what were once dark circles now all puffy and swollen. My left eye has a broken blood vessel, the white part a bright red near the tear duct looking like spilled paint on a new canvas. There's a cut on my temple right above my left eyebrow, and another diagonally running across my right one, butterfly bandages holding the skin together. My bottom lip is split, and there's a giant bruise on the corner of my mouth, all dark purple and pink. My nose has a cast across it, though I can still see how it's a little crooked the way it sticks out from the top.

 _Hey, now I look like Holden a little,_ I joke humorlessly. In reality, seeing all of it makes me sick.

They managed to do all of this, but would what have stopped them from taking it a step further?

Who's to say they won't do worse next time?

Mom notices me staring, and makes a ploy to get me upstairs a little bit quicker. As they get me up the steps, a realization dawns on me when my eyes land upon my door.

Oh, my poor puppets.

What have they done since yesterday? God, I hope they're all right. They must have been worried sick. I hope they didn't do anything reckless. Please, be okay.

Paul puts his hand to the knob, and I let out a shuttered breath. Please, please, please, please-

He opens the door.

There's not a hair out of place. Everything's neat and put where it should be. My backpack is still on the floor where I left it, my papers are still scattered over my desk. And the puppets?

All gathered on the shelf right above my bed. In no particular means of organization, each of them standing on their own, unmoving, perfectly still.

Even after yesterday, they still listened to me.

I choke up and actually feel tears start to prick my eyes. My precious puppets. Such obedient, well mannered puppets

"Okay, let's get you into bed," Paul gestures as he guides me over, pulling back the still wrinkled covers and laying me down, him and Mom removing my sneakers. Mom says something about going to get my pain medicine, and then its just us men. Though I want nothing more than to huddle up in the covers and sleep this headache off, I'm distracted by the way Paul still hovers over me. Or, more specifically, leaning over me, a confused look on his face as he looks at something over to the left.

I follow his gaze and realize he's staring at the puppets.

He seems to notice me staring at him back, and he gives me a glance before going back to them. "So... _these_ are what you were talking about? What you ordered?"

Instantly I feel myself tense up in defense. Just by the hardened look in his eyes I can tell he's less than satisfied with what he sees. Of course. When is he ever?

"Well, yeah," I mumble.

"I'm not trying to ridicule you Gaelin, it's just, even with everything, they seem...a little unlike you," Paul tries to explain.

I open my mouth to respond, but right then Mom comes in the room, a plastic orange bottle in one hand and a glass of water in the other. "Now's not the time for that, Paul."

Neither of us say anything as she hands me the glass, twisting off the cap of the bottle and giving me three pills. I take them, washing them down with the water before asking, "Where's Josie?"

"She's at Mr. Frost's again. Poor thing couldn't get a wink of sleep," Mom says sadly, "We let her skip school today, maybe Mr. Frost could help get her mind off of what she saw. She's really taken a liking to that grandson of his."

I think back to my conversation with Isaac. He's okay, so far. A little weird and hippie-ish, but if Josie likes him, then that's good enough.

Mom and Paul leave me to get some rest, telling me to call them immediately if I feel like something's wrong. I rest my head on the pillow, the covers pulled up to my chin, watching them close the door before I turn back to the shelf. Like someone pulling a switch, the puppets suddenly get mobile, jumping off the shelf and onto the bed with me, gathering around like I'm going to tell them a story. I smile, gathering them up in my arms and holding them close.

"Oh, I missed you guys," I say softly, feeling soft hairs against their chin. I squeeze them tight. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to make you worry."

I feel a tiny hand on my cheek, and open my eyes to find Leech Woman seems to be observing me, her black eyes unhappy as they trace my injuries. I smooth her hair affectionately. "It's okay. It doesn't hurt that badly."

It's a bit of a lie, but they don't need to know that.

My phone lights up with a sudden _ting!_ That alerts me that I got a message. I reach over and pick it up. I don't recognize the number.

 _Heard you out of the hospital. Don't be thinking this is over. Next time I see you, I swear I'm going to fucking kill you. Make you suffer like you made Kailani suffer. That's a promise._

Everything goes cold.

Definitely from Holden.

My heart beats so fast my chest starts to hurt. Like someone's reached inside my rib cage and has got it in a death grip. I think back to the look in Holden's eye last Monday. How those blue eyes held nothing but pure contempt, glowering at me.

I go to put my phone back on my nightstand, but all of a sudden a giant blanket of lethargy settles over me, and my head gets so fuzzy that I miss my step and end up dropping my phone on the floor. Damn, do they really have to go into effect now?

Reaching forward to get my phone off the floor, I only slightly register the puppets hissing as my head falls upon the pillow, and I give in to the soothing feeling of sleep finally coming.

* * *

" _Such a sweet boy,"_ Leech Woman commented sadly as she looked over the Master, " _Only looks out for others and this is his reward."_

" _I still don't understand who would do such a thing,"_ Pinhead frowned as he folded his arms. " _Or why."_

" _People are cruel, that's why,"_ Six Shooter bit out in response as he observed where the Master slept. His six fists clenched as he took in the blackened eyes, the split eyebrow, the swollen lip and broken nose. The only thing that brought him the tiniest relief was the rare expression of content that was settled on the Master's face.

His companions seemed to share his sentiments, all of them shooting at least one glance towards the man responsible for bringing them back to life. Even Torch seemed concern, if the way he looked at the Master and follow it up with a frustrated grunting sound was any indication.

Six sighed, crossing two pairs of arms while the third pair rested on his hips. No matter how many times to connect the dots, it was like they just ended up with more dots being added to the mix.

Suddenly, Tunneler's head shot up. _"Does anyone else hear that?"_

They looked to him, confused. They looked around various parts of the room, trying to listen in on what the pointed headed puppet was talking about. Very faintly, they heard a commotion. Where it was coming from couldn't be told. The noises came back, this time louder. It sounded like it was coming from somewhere outside. Jester, who had taken his growing familiar place against the windowsill, turned and looked out, gazing the dark indigo background of the outside to determine what was causing such a ruckus.

He suddenly jumped back as something hit the window, catching the edge of the windowsill just in time before he fell off completely. The others became startled as well- for a second everyone had thought the window was broken. Upon closer inspection, though, it seemed the object was luckily not heavy enough to even crack it.

Splattered against the pane, was the remains of a broken egg. Bits of shell stuck against the window as it oozed down, the yolk quickly losing its circular shape and dissipating like smeared watercolor.

" _What in the-"_

They all jumped again as another egg hit the window.

Something solid and white hit it before getting tangled up in the branches of the tree outside the window, leaving a trail of white. Toilet tissue.

Jester swung himself back up the sill, pressing his face against the glass and peering out. This time, he managed to catch movement of some sort of figure that was partially hidden by the corner of the roof. The figure appeared- definitely a person- looking like they were cocking their arm back, and Jester's mouth fell open in surprise as another egg hit the house, the yellow sticking out slightly against the shingles.

" _They're defacing the house!"_ He proclaimed to the rest of the group.

Blade climbed up and joined him, the pins in his eyes coming out as he tried to get a look at what his teammate was talking about. His eyes landed upon the figure. Blade's eyes narrowed. It was a bit hard to tell in the dark, but he could make out a light skinned man with what seemed to be facial hair. He had very defined cheekbones. Why did he look so familiar...

Something struck a cord within him.

" _Those are the boys from the Master's school,"_ Blade hissed, " _The ones who worked alongside that horrible girl in tormenting him and breaking his things."_

He turned back and looked at Six Shooter and Pinhead. Though their facial expressions were set in stone, he could see the malice in their eyes- possibly a reflection of his own- at the mention of their latest victim. He could see Leech Woman, Jester, and Tunneler glance at each other, the three of them wearing similar looks of confusion, until something dawned on them, like a light switch had just been turned on.

It all made sense.

He looked to all of them, not even having to say anything, as they all seemed to have the same thought on their mind as they made their way towards the window, Pinhead reaching up and slowly opening the latch.

Pure bloodshed was on their minds.

If these fools wanted to hurt the Master and mess around about on their property, mess with their house, then they would learn to deal with the consequences.

Oh, they would _learn_.


	24. Out With a Bang

**Chapter XXIII: Out With a Bang**

Tony sneered as he took one last look at the house, admiring their artwork. Rolls upon rolls of toilet paper blanketed the roof, snagging in the branches of the tree in the front yard, their color almost fluorescent in the darkness. Splats of yellow egg yolk decorated the shingles like someone had just thrown paint at random, the thick slime slowly sliding down the windows, their shells scattered. The slightly stained and dented white of the garage door was now defaced, a bright pinkish-red spray paint spelling out their message, which Holden was just putting the finishing touches on.

"Pass me another can, Neil," he said as he knelt, shaking the almost empty can in his hand.

The boy in question grinned ear to ear as he dug through the backpack they had bought. "You got it, cuz!" He snickered.

Tony looked at the words being spelled out. He shivered when he felt the cold wind on his face, the chill running straight through his skin. It had to be somewhere after midnight by now. He could just feel the temperature drop second by second. It was certainly a juvenile task they were performing- cheesy and amateur, by Holden's own standards. Something that only dumb sixth graders thought of doing.

An edge of bitterness crept into his thoughts. Never mind that, though. Killough was getting off easy this time.

He deserved a lot worse. Bastard should count himself lucky they weren't _breaking_ the windows.

His mirth quickly ended when a small, timid voice spoke up. "A-are you guys a-almost done?"

Rolling his eyes, Tony glanced over his shoulder, a frown quickly forming when he saw that Andy had moved from his position at the corner of the street. God, the guy just looked like he wanted to get beat up- his shoulders hunched over in his overly big trench coat, his eyes glancing around nervously.

"Almost, go back to keeping watch," Tony said curtly, feeling irritation quickly creeping into his veins. It escalated immediately when Andy didn't budge.

"Guys, I don't think this a good idea," Andy continued, "I-I mean, what if someone wakes up right now? And they see us?! We're totally toast!"

Max responded, "Which is why _you're_ supposed to be on the lookout to make sure that doesn't happen, not standing here talking to us."

Why ever Holden decided to bring his wimpy-ass cousin along, Tony couldn't wrap his head around. The kid had nothing to offer them. He was weak, too easily scared, had no backbone whatsoever- even less than Killough, if that was possible- plus he had questioned at least five times in the last hour if what they were doing was a good idea. It got on every last of Tony's nerves.

"I-I-I'm just saying-"

"Quit being such a pussy, Andy," Holden snapped at him, shooting the smaller boy a glare over his shoulder, "Get your ass back to keeping watch before you screw us over."

As if on cue, a light suddenly came on in the house across the street, a silhouette appearing behind the curtains. The boys froze, their eyes growing wide with horror as they saw a hand reach up and start to open the window.

"Shit," Holden hissed as they quickly gathered up their supplies, trying to keep out of sight as they crouched close to the bushes as they made their way to the car. Max, the designated driver, shoved the the key in, revving up the engine and pressing on the gas before the doors were even closed all the way.

"...d-do you guys really think this was a good idea?" Andy asked as Max took a back road, the houses giving way to empty fields.

Neil rolled his eyes and looked to his right at the flustered boy, "A little late for you to back out, you know."

Andy curled up in his seat, shoulders curled up in defense as he pressed himself to the window. "I'm-I-It's just..."

"You didn't have to come with us, you know," Tony remarked. Man this kid was annoying.

"It's just...I don't think," Andy stammered, "I don't think...this isn't right."

They all stared at him- even Max was glancing through the rearview mirror- as if the boy had just grown two heads. Holden in particularly had a look to kill, his eyes stormy as he twisted in his seat to scowl at his cousin from the passenger's side.

"Wrong?" he questioned, " _Wrong?!_ Kailani's murderer is walking fucking free without so much as a slap on the wrist and you want to tell me that what I'm doing is wrong?!"

Andy shrunk further into his seat at the harsh tone of the older boy, fearing what Holden's next move would be. God knows the brunette was not the most predictable when his temper had blown over. "I-I-I-I was o-only sugg-ggesting-"

"Well, don't, nobody asked you," Holden barked back as he sat back in his seat, his brows furrowed as he looked ahead.

"Besides," he muttered, "This doesn't even add up to a fraction of what Killough deserves. If it were really equal, I'd have that bastard hanging by a tree already."

The last line caused the rest of them to look at him in alarm, though if Holden noticed he didn't let them know. Tony swallowed hard. It was times like this that made him really wary of Holden; sure, he probably didn't have room to talk- he did help beat Killough to a frickin' pulp- but giving the kid a few bruises (and well, okay, maybe a broken bone or two) was different from actually offing him.

The thought alone made his heart beat nervously in his chest. Did he really have the balls to do something like that?

Silence had since settled in the car, and they drove in awkward quiet as the darkness stretched on for miles. Open fields stood on each side, the faintest glow of frost on grass blades giving the atmosphere a bit of an eerie feel. Tony leaned against the window, looking out. He closed his eyes- all he wanted to do was get back home and crawl into bed.

 _ZZZZZZ! ZZZZZ!_

Suddenly, his neck erupted in agony.

Tony jerked, short squeaky gasps coming from his mouth as his legs and arms stiffened, spazzing as he clawed at his seat. Neil and Andy looked at him in alarm. Neil inched away, eyes widened.

"Dude, what the hell's wrong with you?!" He asked.

Max and Holden looked back, the two of them surprised as well to see this sudden episode. Tony to yelp, sounding like he had something caught in his throat. All of a sudden, the noises morphed into something akin to choking, and the four remaining boys jumped back as blood began to pour from his mouth, instantly drenching his sweatshirt and pants.

Before they could recover, something burst from Tony's mouth- a cone shape that was covered in crimson- tearing the edges of his lips open. Horrifically, something began to _crawl out_ , pulling itself from the wounded boy's lips. It landed on his lap, and a giant hole was now visible; something that came from the back of his neck and crawled through. The little figure stood up straight- some kind of army toy, gazing at the group with menacing black eyes as it stood covered in blood, the drill at the top of its head shiny, bits of what appeared to be flesh stuck to its sides.

" _ **WHAT THE FUCK?!**_ " Neil screamed as he shoved himself into Andy, trying to put as much distance between the mysterious being and himself as possible.

Holden threw himself backwards, his horror and turning stomach making him ignore the painful collision that hitting the dashboard caused. The truck began to swerve nauseatingly as Max struggled to focus on both driving and seeing the events unfolding.

"What is that? WHAT IS THAT?!" Andy screeched, his voice cracking as he grabbed the door handle for dear life.

The little doll turned, turning its gaze on the frightened pair. Its drill started up, the bloodstained metal turning and producing the similar whirring sound. Putting its head down like a raging bull in the ring, the doll began to charge the frightened pair. Neil screamed as he shot his leg out, kicking it and sending it flying against the window.

Something appeared in the corner of his vision, and Neil cried out as something suddenly latched onto his head, yanking at his tangled blonde locks. He yanked it off- it was another doll, its divided head showing a mischievous grin, the bells on its hat jingling as it held up a small knife. With one quick swipe, it slit his throat, and Neil gasped as his breathing was quickly hindered. He grabbed at the wound, blood spilling from his lips and in between his fingers. Andy screeched as Neil fell back against him. The combination of Neil's current dilemma and Tony- who now slouched in his seat, unmoving, eyes staring straight ahead- made his stomach twist in a knot, and he doubled over, vomiting.

He had no time to recover before he felt a light weight crawl up his back, and yelled as he felt something stab him in the ear. A tiny fist nestled in his hair as the knife was ripped out and plunged back in, small stab wounds appearing in his right cheek and and jawline. He tried to block whatever was harming him, only to get stabbed in his hands.

Holden gripped his seat as he stared at his friend and cousin; Andy had slouched over in a vain attempt to try and lessen the blows, revealing the monstrosity responsible; Holden's eyes widened as the tiny being sat up and looked straight at him. It resembled something of a doll- like an older model of a Barbie or something- her black hair feral, her pink dress bloodstained, as were her milk-white arms. The doll's face, however, was absolutely menacing: her mouth was twisted into an open scowl, her hardened black eyes malicious and mad, intensified by the painted on makeup. She grasped a handful of Andy's brown hair, yanking it to keep from flying off. She hissed harshly at Holden before she jabbed the knife into his cousin's face again, blood getting everywhere.

" _Dude, what do we do_?!" Max sobbed from the front seat, his driving now starting to have become erratic.

"I don't know!" He shouted.

Oh god, there was so much blood...oh god, Tony and Neil were-

Something jumped from the backseat- the Jester doll that had attacked Neil landed in Holden's lap, holding up his small knife like he was proud of it. Holden stared back in shock, frozen. The small toy moved forward, grabbing a tiny handful of his shirt like it was going to start climbing up it- leaving small bloody handprints.

" _ **GET THE FUCK OFF ME!"**_ Holden screamed as he grabbed it by the shoulders and threw it towards the backseat.

However, it did little to help, as the drill-headed puppet climbed up the seat just as quickly. His metal head spinning, he dove down, driving it into Holden's shin. Holden screeched in pain as agony ran through his entire leg, the sound and feel of bone shattering under the small toy's power echoing through his entire skeletal structure.

"Holden!" Max shouted, looking away from the road, "What's wrong?! What's wrong with Tony and Neil?! Why is Andy-"

The large boy's rambling was suddenly cut off as he felt something yank at his hair, and he only had enough time to let loose a slight yelp before he felt something stab him in the neck, blood spurting out like a geyser. Max grasped at the wound, quickly finding his breathing hindered as his airway filled with liquid. It felt like he was underwater, drowning in his own body. The clown puppet emerged from his right, staring at Max with a pleased look in its blue eyes. Max stared back in horror- it felt like his chest was being crushed, it was so hard to breathe.

The car started jerking more, its tires screeching on the asphalt as Max's control rapidly diminished.

Holding his thigh, Holden squeezed his eyes shut as he groaned, teeth grit as red hot pain spread in his leg. The tunneler doll looked up at him as if it were mocking him- having managed to drill all the way to the bone- examining his body like it was looking for a new spot to cause new damage. Finally opening his eyes, Holden raised his good leg- trying to ignore the torture that it caused to his wound- and kicked the doll away. He yelled as he felt a new wave of pain aggravate the injury, as if someone were sticking a white hot poker into it.

"GAH!" He suddenly wailed when the female doll, who had since abandoned Andy, who now lay on the car's floor a shredded mess, jumped on his head. Holden flailed, trying to throw her off, though this only caused him to fall out of his seat, his back hitting the curved floor. The doll held on to his sideburns, and he looked up at her with terrified eyes. The doll's face had lost its sinister scowl, but her soft eyes clashed horribly with the splatters of blood that covered her white face and body. She opened her mouth, and Holden's eyes widened, having nowhere else to look that could distract from the way it stretched, as if at any minute her entire face would tear in two. Something green and slimy began to protrude, the doll making grunting and groaning noises like gargling up the creature was just as uncomfortable for her.

Holden sobbed, "Pleasepleasepleaseplease" as the leech crawled further out of the doll's mouth, fat and slick, hungry for blood.

Andy lay on the floor, dazed and delirious, blood loss kicking in as the floor became soaked in blood, dozens of tiny cuts all over his body. Neil and Tony's bodies lay unmoving, eyes staring blankly.

Max, having long let go of the steering wheel, jerked. His leg hit the wheel, unconsciously pulling it the left.

The car jerked. It had long lost its straight direction.

The front tire hit a large rock that stuck in the road from the dirt, the sharp edges blowing it out.

The car swerved, bringing its rear up front.

It spun several times, the rear right tire going up in the air.

The car flipped over, rolling about six times. Skipping like a stone on a lake, it hit the side once, before coming to a rest on its roof.

Broken glass lay all over the road. The smell of burning rubber filled the air. Smoke was coming out of the exhaust in thick black clouds. The left side was crumpled, the windows completely destroyed. One tire still spun slowly.

A hand popped out.

Gripping the pavement, crawling slowly, Holden pulled himself from the wreckage. His clothes, which had been relatively clean for the most part, were now soaked in blood, not all of it his own. He a cut on his head covered his face in it as well. He clenched his teeth against the pain and gasped for breath, trying to get out of the crushed car as fast as he could in his condition. His drilled leg was now a compound fracture, the fibula poking through the hole like a splinter. His foot was broken, twisted at an impossible angle. His left hand bones were completely crushed. He couldn't hear very well out of his left ear. His chest hurt with every breath he took.

Pausing with his feet inside the window, Holden let out a shaky breath, coughing from the pain. He looked around, dazed. It was freezing. The sky was vantablack. Not a sign of life visible for miles. It was deathly quiet.

There was a sudden loud growling sound, but it wasn't any animal. It had almost a mechanized sound to it.

Holden whipped his head to the right. It was hard to see in the dark, but the little figure that stood in the middle of the road was hard to miss.

It looked like some kind of robot. It eyes glowed bright red, its small mouth moving up and down; there were bullets in place of teeth. There was a little point that stood up on its head. The three dolls responsible for the prior chaos stood some ways away from it.

Holden let out a squeak, his heart hammering in his chest. He couldn't move very well.

The robot lifted its right arm, showing that it lacked a hand.

From it came a flame instead.

Holden's eyes widened, and it was then he noticed a shining puddle some ways away. He slowly followed it to where it began somewhere under the truck.

The gas tank was leaking.

His breath caught in his throat.

The robot continued to growl at him, the flame from its stump growing bigger as it lowered its hand. The gasoline had spread to just right before its tiny feet. It never took its eyes off Holden as the flame got closer to the liquid.

The flame touched the gasoline. In just seconds, the gasoline gave away to fire as it raced back to the truck.

Holden's mouth went dry. He tried to scream-

" _ **NO-**_!"

 _ **BOOM!**_

A large cloud of red orange light erupted from the wreckage, illuminating the area like a star going supernova. It spread for several feet, consuming everything in a massive haze of light. The noise was quick and short but still powerful, echoing like a plane that had broken the sound barrier; something akin to the noise of a shotgun going off. Just as quickly, smoke replaced the light, billowing out from the epicenter in thick black waves. Pieces of flaming metal went flying, scattering for miles. Angry, hungry flames ate away at the debris, their crackling replacing the massive rumble, making the twisted metal a searing red as it heated up. There was a distinct smell of burning meat in the air.

All the while, the four puppets watched, observing the scene. They were still.

Torch let his flamethrower drop to his side, watching the smoke as it rose high into the sky.

" _Hmmph,_ " he snorted, " _Good riddance._ "

" _It was necessary,"_ Leech Woman responded, though it seemed more to herself than him, " _We did what we had to do."_

Tunneler and Jester stood silent. They continued watching the burning vehicle. Their eyes lingered on the way the flames ate away at Holden's body- how his clothes burned to ash, the way his flesh bubbled and blackened from the heat. Nearby glass was warped and colored bright orange like hot coals in a fire place. Embers twinkled in the grass like dying sparklers. The tires had melted, liquid rubber now dripping into the dirt.

" _Uh, guys,"_ Jester suddenly spoke up.

They looked at him, seeing his smiling expression was now replaced with his surprised face.

" _How are we going to get home?"_

They stared at him for a second, before looking around frantically as if they had just now realized where they were. The Master's neighborhood was nowhere in sight. They had no clue how far they had been driven. Who knew how long it would take them to retrace their steps.

" _Way to ruin the mood, Jester_ ," Tunneler groaned.

* * *

 _A/N: I'm not actually sure how I feel about the way this chapter turned out. It was surprisingly super difficult for me to write (in terms of wording and layout), even though I had this scenario planned in my head since the beginning and it is in fact one that appeared in the story's original draft. I don't know, something about it all just feels shorthanded._

 _The good news is that I am officially off for winter break! And in addition to that, I quit my job, so I will have much more time to write these next few weeks! (Gosh, has it really been almost three weeks?)_


	25. Nightmares

**Chapter XXIV: Nightmares**

"So did you hear?"

"Hear what?"

"About Gaelin Killough?"

Audrey's pen stopped right in the middle of the paper, the delicate purple ink starting to bleed into the white. Her head slowly lifted, hazel eyes moving to the right to stare out of the corner of her peripheral, trying to hear in on the conversation as best as she could without giving herself away.

"What about him?" she heard Mercedes ask, sounding a bit disinterested.

Rhea Samson's voice came out sounding like she was trying to whisper, but obviously didn't know how to keep her voice down, "My stepsister works at the hospital, and she said she saw him be wheeled him, and he was all fucked up like he got beaten with a bat or something. She said it was really bad, like he has a cast on and all that."

"Really?" Zuri responded, "Wow, that's too bad."

At the mention of the blonde's name, Audrey's head turned slightly towards the group of popular kids. Her brows furrowed. Gaelin was in the hospital? Since when? A twinge of worry started running in her chest, her heart rate picking up at the thought of him lying injured. Was he okay, at the least.

"Sounds like Loftis' work," Mercedes commented, "He's always had a vendetta against that guy ever since Kailani died. Right from the get-go, he thought Killough did it, no questions asked."

The mention of the latest school scandal made Audrey frown, and she thought back to the scene that had transpired down at the cafeteria. She remembered the look on Gaelin's face as her and Virgil brought him to the nurse, the way he seemed to regress back into his shell at the brunette's words. She tried to tell him that she knew he would never do anything like that, to ignore Holden, he was just a dick, to no avail. Of course, nobody would probably have a good reaction to having their whole reputation ruined because of an accusation like murder, but Gaelin shut down so immediately it worried her he was going to do something drastic.

"So do you think he did it?" she heard Zuri ask.

"Did what?"

"You know...kill Kailani."

"Who else?" she heard Roy Elmerson comment, "I always thought that freak had something wrong with him. Like, you see those puppets he brought? Who the fuck owns shit like that?"

Audrey's grip on her pen tightened, knuckles whitening from the pressure. Of course they thought it was Gaelin; always had to single out the outsider. It wasn't fair to him; Gaelin never did anything to anybody. Sure, he was a bit disconnected, but the guy had lost his dad and was hospitalized for three months. Who could honestly come out of a mess like that _not_ changed?

She bitterly thought about how some of the kids in school acted when she first transferred- days of putting up with stupid questions of if she were a vampire or had tried to talk to the devil before, tasteless jokes about her being into kinky shit and constant stares that looked like they either wanted to hit her or fuck her. It was always easier for people to judge different rather than try to understand.

"I don't think it was him," Scott Katsukawa, Mercedes' boyfriend, spoke up, "Killough's weird, but to do something like that would require major balls, and the dude's got anything but those."

Mercedes added, "Even if he did, could you blame him? She totally had it coming."

Audrey's eyebrows raised, and for a moment there was silence in the group.

"Harsh, Mercy," Rhea's voice then said.

"What, I'm just telling the truth. Kailani wasn't an angel, there were plenty of people she'd fucked over one time or another who'd want to get back at her. I mean, you remember what she did to Michelle Kiordan when she got tried to write a pass to tell the teacher she bled through her pants? She yelled what it said so loudly the class across the hall heard it! They had to get the counselor to coax Michelle out of the bathroom! Look, I don't condone murder or anything, but that girl was a real piece of work."

Deciding that she'd heard enough, Audrey turned her head back to the front, dropping her fishnet gloved hands in her lap. She stared down at her notebook, gazing at the picture she had been doodling before Mercedes and her friends' gossip spiked her interest. It was a bird, drawn in purple gel ink. The corner of the feathers on its right wing were ruined. The ink had bled into the page.

She fiddled with her silver bracelet, thinking back to Rhea's words. Whatever happened to Gaelin, enough that he had to go to the hospital. She hoped that part was just the truth being stretched or misinterpreted. Either way, it had to be bad; she had noticed how he didn't show up to class that day, though she originally dismissed it as him being sick or just needing a day off from daily stresses. Hearing this, though, made a whole wave of worry ripple through her.

It was ironic. Last year, she barely gave Gaelin a thought. Not that he was a bad guy or anything, but Audrey had had so much going on she always said she didn't have time for anyone at school- hell, she barely hung out with her own friends during those times. Or, at least, that was what she told herself. (It was easier to relieve the guilt of knowing she said she'd never let anyone get mistreated and yet let it happen anyway that way). Now, she probably sounded like a fretting mother. Not that she cared. Gaelin was a good person, and it was obvious he needed someone these days. If she had to be that person, Audrey was more than willing to.

And now, something had happened and he was hurt.

And she was going to get to the bottom of it.

* * *

" _You think you're safe? Nobody is safe."_

 _There's nothing but darkness all around me._

" _W-who's there?" I ask._

" _All of them thought that they could control it, that such power could be contained. They were all fools. Even him."_

 _I turn around. The voice is coming from everywhere- not one location, but as if it's floating all around me, like mist in the air. "Who's there?!"_

" _He believed that his deed could go unpunished. That he could ignore the blood on his hands in the name of righteousness, but even he could not fight his thirst for power, the fool. And in the end, it all came crashing down as his very creations turned against him."_

 _There's a presence right behind me. I suddenly feel cold on the inside, my spine tingling. Against my better judgment, I turn around._

" _Try as they might, no one can truly hide the monster they are."_

 _I nearly fall back on my ass, holding back a scream. In front of me is a large creature standing tall at eight feet. His body is so inhuman I feel sick just looking at it- his broad shoulders and giant chest stretch the skin tight, veins bulging like worms underneath. His ribcage sits like chest armor the way it bulges against his stomach. His own face looks like a skull, the mouth looking as if it were fused shut and he ripped it open, ribbons of skin connecting his upper and lower jaws. A skull hangs from his pectorals by a cord. His eyes are a smoldering yellow, as if someone placed two burning hot coals into his sockets._

 _My throat is tight and I can't find the words. When I do, it comes out as a strangled whisper, "W-who a-a-a-are y-y-you?"_

" _Even you, as blind as you try to make yourself to be, cannot deny the desire you feel," he ignores my question as he takes a step towards me._

 _I try to go back, but the behemoth reaches out with a log bony hand, black talons curving like fish hooks, and grabs my chin, forcing me to look at him._

" _I see the darkness in your heart," he hisses, "The vengeance you crave, the bloodshed you yearn for. They are merely carrying out your will, their very nature calls for it. They take life in order to sustain their own. He tried to fool himself into thinking otherwise, but he was a fool and thought he could play the gods with no consequence; one cannot protect without sacrifice."_

 _Tears prick the corner of my eyes. My heart's almost humming. I feel like I want to piss my pants._

" _W-What are you-"_

" _It is only a matter of time. My father may have been defeated but a mere mortal can never truly destroy a god. And when the time comes, I will rue the day when I am able to drag the lot of you back to Hell myself."_

A gasp is the first sound that I make as I tear my eyes open, feeling wide awake. The dull bumpy white of the ceiling stares back at me. I can feel myself shaking under the covers, my heart's beating like a samba. My hands grip the comforter so tightly I can feel my knuckles beginning to hurt. I look out the window. The sunrise has just been completed, everything bright in a pale yellow.

What was that? What did it mean?

I take a deep breath, letting out shaky breaths to try and calm the thundering in my chest. I sit up, wincing at the pain it causes my ribs. I put my head in my hands and close my eyes. Just focus on your breathing. In and out, in and out.

" _WHAT THE FUCK?!"_

The sound of Paul's voice makes me jump, and I look out the window again. It's then that I finally notice something that looks like a large stain on my window. What the-?

I get up from the bed and walk over. It looks like some clear gel. I furrow my brows, and then my eyes land on the streaks of yellow.

The roof is splattered with what looks like egg yolks. They've streaked down, bits of white shell here and there like sprinkled glitter. Something flapping in the wind catches my eye, and I look out to see the tree in front of the yard covered in toilet paper.

I hear Mom go out the front door; it's impossible to understand what Paul's saying, but his tone is loud enough that I can hear it all the way from up here. I look to the puppets. They're all still on their shelf, not moving.

"Stay you, you guys," I command as I step out and head down the stairs. Going down each step makes the bruises on my legs thump dully with pain, but I push it aside and grab a jacket before going out the front. Mom's trying to calm Paul down, as he looks like he's about to have an aneurysm- his face is tomato red and I can even see the vein in his neck bulging. From there I can see streams of more toilet paper hanging from the water drains and the bushes.

"What's going on?" I ask as I come outside.

Mom whips around, one hand on Paul's shoulder. "Oh, sweetie, go back inside. You need to be taking it easy-"

"-I swear if those damn fools try and tell me they can't press charges, we are SUING their asses-" Paul rambles to himself, looking like fifty blood capillaries are about to pop.

Something bright pink gets my attention, and I turn to the garage. Immediately, the familiar black pit in my stomach opens up, and a giant coat of dread settles on me.

 _ **MURDERER**_ is written right on the garage door. Bright red spray paint violates the slightly dull white of it, extra drips of paint dripping down for added dramatic effect. The letters are a bit smashed together, like the person overestimated the room available, but they reach the floor and the top of the door. Added with the broken eggs that have been thrown all over the roof and the wet toilet paper decorating the corners like wet streamers, and it looks like one big amateur haunted house scene.

Obviously Holden and Tony's work.

I hear voices, and turn to see the neighbors are looking at us. Staring at their artwork; some of the younger kids have their phones out. Most of them are staring at me- maybe from the shock of my injuries, maybe from the judgment of seeing the big red letters and remembering how the cops were here and putting two and two together, maybe both. They think I did it; just like Holden does, just like how everyone else at school does.

For the moment, the dread wears away.

And it's replaced by a burning, smoldering anger.

Screw them.

They don't know me. They don't know what I've been through, what I've had to put up with. But no, they listen to the voices of two brain dead pieces of trailer trash and suddenly they know everything about me.

They don't know anything at all.


	26. Emotions Boiling Over

**Chapter XV: Emotions Boiling Over**

"-Are you going to do something or not?" I hear Paul ask Officer Brown for the third time.

"We will put in on record and will even send a cleaning crew down to get rid of the vandalism-"

"But are you. Going. To. Put. Them. In. Jail?!" Paul interrupts. His words are stiff and pronounced with a sharp edge to them. I can imagine he's saying them with his teeth grit, his lips all shriveled up like a growling dog, a sign he's only a few seconds away from completely losing it. Which is when you really know you've fucked him up; Paul's usually an expert at keeping his stance in check.

I raise my eyebrows, waiting for Brown's response. When the police car appeared in the driveway, Mom made me go upstairs, but I opted for the old trick of shutting my door outside and creeping to the edge of the stairs. The communication as been, to put it lightly, passionate. Mom hasn't stopped hammering them from the minute they walked through the door.

Officer Brown sighs, "Mr. Saint Claire, Mrs. Saint Claire, I know you're both angry over the recent events-"

"'Angry' doesn't even begin to describe it," Mom hisses.

"-But I'm afraid..." he trails off. There's a strange hesitance to his voice, like he has to hold something back. "...I'm afraid we..."

"What?" Mom demands.

"I'm afraid we may not be able to charge the boys you think responsible-"

"And why the hell not?!"

There's a moment of thick, uneasy silence that settles downstairs. I lean forward, straining my hearing to try and listen better. There's nothing from either party. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, I hear Brown reply.

"We believe Holden Loftis is dead."

The silence that follows becomes so defining you can probably hear a pin drop. It takes a moment for me to get over the initial shock for the answer to actually sink in. I stare at the corner of the downstairs. A familiar feeling of being discharged from reality- the disassociation of being there, but not really being there- an uncomfortable churning in my stomach, starts to settle over me.

"I-...what?" I hear Mom ask, her voice soft, disbelieving.

For a second, there's no response from Brown. He then lets loose another sigh before he answers. "I'm not supposed to be telling you two this. But...we got a call last night of an automobile accident. A Jeep Cherokee caught fire and ended in an explosion. All five passengers died. We haven't obtained dental records for identification yet but...Mr. Loftis' family was said to have a car of that description in their possession. We also got a call this morning from the household of a boy named Tony Plonsky- he was said to be friends with Holden- his parents called saying he failed to come home last night."

This can't be real. There has to be some catch to this; someone jumping out of the bushes and yelling surprise or something, or me having walked into an alternate reality. This isn't actually happening. Holden and Tony are...dead? Them too? And a month or so after Kailani?

There's a buzzing in my chest, a yearning to make sure that what I'm hearing is true, that this isn't some sort of Matrix-esque world I've landed in.

"Oh...oh! Oh my god, that's horrible," Mom exclaims.

"And this just happened last night?" Paul asks.

"Yes, and we would appreciate it if you didn't tell anyone at this time. We still need to go through the whole process of identifying and the parents are already hysterical enough- you understand, right? Wouldn't want outsiders knowing this before you do if something happened?" Brown comments.

Mom answers, "Oh...certainly."

They start talking again- Schultz mentions something like an apology over the vandalism and promises they'll bring someone to clean the mess up- but I've zoned out in my own thoughts. I'm still reeling over the news they're dead. Or, at least, they might be dead. And it all happened last night. That would mean it would've had to have happen right after they egged the house, right? It seems almost too coincidental. How would something like an explosion happen anyway? I have so many questions. Amongst it all, I find myself in a peculiar stance.

Holden's dead. Him and Tony. Just like Kailani is. If the officers' corrections are right, they probably died brutally- your car exploding when you're in it is no small scrape.

But unlike Kailani, I can't find it in me to shut off. Unlike when the news hit of her dying, I'm not experiencing the same confusing emptiness or numbness. I don't think of how horrible it sounds, or the fact that three other people that I didn't even know died, too.

Now, all I feel...is contempt.

I take a look at my casted wrist and frown. It's my right hand- my writing hand. School's going to be hell now.

That's just barely scraping the surface, though. This isn't anything like Kailani, in my opinion. Kailani was a bitch and broke Goselyn, but Holden actually _hurt_ me. He beat the living shit out of me. He put me in the hospital; he threatened to kill me- if last night didn't happen, he might have actually done so somewhere down the line. He desecrated my house. He made everyone think I killed Kailani based on his own bullshit theory, and now everyone treats me like I'm Typhoid Mary. They believed his lies. He spread them. He bullied me and made fun of me, he made my life a living hell, he broke my things and my bones. I'm in pain, I'm humiliated, and I'm angry.

A dark part of my conscious comes to light. One I tend to ignore because it's so horrible and I don't like entertaining the thoughts it puts in my head. But now, it's out and nothing it's holding it back.

 _Good_ , is what it says, _Assholes deserved it._

 _Glad that they're gone. About time they got theirs; I hope it went as slow as possible._

Normally I push these thoughts away, but right now, I strangely can't find it within myself to care.

I break out of my thoughts when I hear the door close. I hear Paul let out a sigh, probably sharing a glance with Mom. Before I even think it through, I jump up and rush down the stairs. They both look at me, surprise on their faces at my sudden entry. I look to both of them and ask, "Well?"

"Hm?" Mom asks.

"Did they say, you know, what they'll do about the graffiti?" I question. A strange hum of eagerness is building in my chest.

Mom looks out the window, the corners of her mouth pulling down when she spots the pink words. "Oh, they said someone will be here in a few hours. Sweetie, there's something we need to tell you-"

"About Holden and Tony. Yeah, I heard. But did they say how much it's going to-"

"You heard?" Paul frowns at me, "Were you eavesdropping on us?"

I ignore him, asking Mom, "It's not to bad is it? Like, it won't drain you in the bank, right?"

"Gaelin, don't ignore me. How can you say it like that?" he cuts in, hands on his hips.

I look at him. "Say it like what?"

"'Yeah, I heard?'" he repeats, "That's a bit crass considering the situation."

Now I feel my own frown start to form. I respond, "What? I was just saying that I know about it, you don't have to tell me."

"Son, those boys and three other people might dead. That's not something to just talk about lightly."

"I'm _not_ ," I say, starting to feel the anger bubble up, "I'm just saying that I know. I don't know why you're looking at me like that. You're acting like I killed somebody."

Mom looks at me, "Gaelin, don't talk to your stepfather like that-"

Paul cuts her off, an attitude to his voice to combat me, "Well, I'm just saying I'd expect you to be a little bit more sympathetic to the situation."

The words die in my mouth, and I look at him, dumbfounded by what I've just heard. But the astonishment is quickly lost by the next words that come out.

"Sympathy?!" I shout, "For them?! After what they did?!"

I gesture to my face. My eyes are still blackened and swollen. My lip is still bruised and cracked with scabs. Bruises litter my body like a ruined watercolor painting. I'm the one who has to feel it all, not him.

Paul takes a slight step back, probably shocked from my slight outburst.

Just who is this person? This new, unseen part of me? This furious, snappy, venom-mouthed person? I've never met him before. I barely recognize myself. At the moment, though, I can't really find it in me to care.

"Boys, stop," Mom steps in between us before we can wage verbal war any longer. She looks to me, trying to be the mediator. She puts a hand on my shoulder. "Gael'-"

I surprise myself when I find myself harshly shrugging her off, turning back towards the stairs, ignoring the surprise and hurt on her face, the way she says my name in disbelief. I brush her off with a muttered response that I'm going back to my room, stomping up the stairs and having to hold back to keep from completely slamming the door. I flop down on my bed, burying my head into my pillow and pulling it close, my hand clenching into the fabric.

 _Be a little bit more sympathetic to the situation._

Where was the sympathy for me after my father died? Where was it in all those times they'd bring him up, knowing it was a touchy subject, all the times Holden'd stick gum in my hair or dump juice down my back? Where was it whenever him and Tony would shove me into lockers and steal my homework? Where was it the day Kailani broke Goselyn and stole my puppets? I never did anything to Holden or his dumbass friends, and yet I always got treated like shit. Always the damn doormat.

But of course, I'm supposed to feel sorry for them when something bad happens. Paul always thinks I need to do this, or feel that, or be something. Nothing I ever do is fucking good enough.

The anger stews, and it's almost nerve-wracking that I can't do anything to get rid of it.

I think back to something else Paul had said.

"I'm not your son," I mutter into my pillowcase. It's petty, I know, but it's the only thing I think of at the moment that makes me feel better, even it's just a tiny thing.

For a moment, I just lie there. A small touch in the back of my head makes me look up, seeing Pinhead poke the top of my head. All of them are watching me. I smile, raising my left and lightly touching his thumb. "Don't worry about it, buddy. It's not any of you."

Not them. Never them.

They understand my pain, my frustration.

And for now, that's all I need.


	27. A Legend

**Chapter XVI: A Legend**

Later that night, I've since calmed down from stewing in my own pit of anger and annoyance.

Now, all I feel is regret.

That I gave Mom the silent treatment. That I thought all those things about Paul.

The thing that bothers me the most though, is Holden and Tony. Not that they died, not the horrible way they died, but the fact that I...really don't care.

I mean, I think the way they went out is awful, but...I really can't feel bad. Not like I did with Kailani. Maybe it's the fact I'm still reeling over getting jumped, but I don't feel bad for them or their families. I don't feel sorry for them. I don't even get the empty feeling I did when Carter told me about Kailani.

All I can really think of, well, it's done with. They're gone. There's nothing anyone can do. They won't be there to bother me or anyone else anymore.

And honestly, I hate it.

* * *

A sudden, hard tapping on my chest rips me from sleep, any dreams I may have had quickly forgotten as I jerk awake, startled by the sensation. My head is reeling, my vision blurred from the light and tears. My headphones fall out and tumble down my chest, the sound of rock music falling away.

"W-what, wha..." I mumble, not quite grasping my surroundings.

There's a switch, and someone taps my arm hard. I look down to see Pinhead's the one responsible, grabbing at my arm like an impatient child would when they want to get ice cream.

I try rubbing the sand out of my eyes, asking tiredly, "Pin, what is it?"

He yanks hard on my arm, the force of it strong enough that I get yanked forward, sending a slight wave of pain to hit my ribs. I suddenly feel a tugging on my pant leg; Jester's pulling with all his might, his gold boot-clad feet digging into the sheets as he tries to pull back. He looks at me, his face spun into his surprised form. My frows burrow, and someone else comes from under my arm- Torch, grabbing at my shirt. This gets my attention, as they all start coming up to me, trying to urge me from the bed.

"Wait, guys, what is it?" I ask.

Blade and Tunneler point to the window, which I notice has been opened, the bright sunlight hitting my room with a vengeance. Also, to my horror, Six Shooter is at the window, leaning halfway out as he grasps the ledge with his bottom pair of arms, his shoes sticking up at a perpendicular angle.

I bolt up and run over instantly. "Six! Get the hell back in here!"

I wrap my hand around his waist and keep him from falling out, plopping him right on the windowsill. He doesn't even seem startled from the action; instead, he actually appears irritated and anxious, pointing his other three hands out the window and continuously looking back and forth between me and the outside.

"What? What's wrong? What did you see?"

Turning to the rest of them, I can see they're all acting as anxious as Six is, the boys all pointing towards the window frantically like something just flew out. And then I realize something.

"Where's Leech Woman?" I question, looking around the room, failing to spot her anywhere.

The pointing turns more frantic, and a sudden cord is struck when I realize just what they mean.

Shooter is almost knocked off the sill from my arm as I dart back, nearly falling out the window myself when I push forward, my entire front half sticking out as I search the yard below for any flash of pink or pale white. Dread blooms like a flower in my chest when the only sign I can find of her is a slight crater in the dirt of the garden.

"SHE FELL OUT?!" I yell as I look back the boys. They shrink back. Jester's head spins, changing into his sad expression as he nods hesitantly. My eyes grow wide.

"How did she fall out?! Why was the window opened in the first place?! How long ago did it happen?!" I question, not waiting for the semblance of any answer as panic works its way through my veins.

Oh, god. She's out the window. Out of the house. In broad daylight. Someone might see her. She could get stolen. My hands pull at my hair as I imagine the various scenarios- images of a too curious animal mistaking her for a chew toy, a nosy passerby seeing her move and taking it upon themselves to investigate, Leech lying there in pain, having broken a limb or two from the fall- each of them getting worse and worse as anxiety clouds my ability to think.

"Nonononononononono," I mutter to myself as I run the door, flinging it open and rushing downstairs. Please be okay, please be okay, please be okay. My ankle nearly snaps in half when I slip on the stairs, barely saving myself by grabbing the railing, my feet slamming on the ground when I hit the last step. I wince at the flare of pain it causes my ribs, but try to ignore it as I run to the front door.

My hand fumbles with the door knob, and I rip it back, fully intending to burst outside, determined to find Leech Woman no matter what, even if I have to dig up the entire front yard.

Only to barely hold myself back from completely plowing into Audrey at my doorstep.

I stumble backward, almost slipping on the linoleum as my feet fumble to find a stable foundation. Audrey draws back slightly, her hazel eyes widened in surprise. She holds her belongings to her chest like it could protect her.

For a moment we just stare at each other.

"Um...hi," I say, stooped on what to say. What is Audrey doing at my house?

"...Hi," Audrey responds back. Her eyes don't meet mine, staring at the discoloration of my face, slowly traveling down and taking note of the blue cast.

I rub the back of my head. "What, um...what brings you here?"

Audrey shifts the stack of things in her arms, balancing all of it in the crook of one while her hand digs out a pile of papers. They're all held to together by a large paperclip, a neon yellow sticky note stuck on the front.

"Well," she explains, "I noticed how you weren't in school the last few days, so I thought to stop by and drop off some homework for you so you don't fall behind when you're able to return to the land of the undead."

It's meant as a joke, but it flies right over my head on account of I'm too shocked by her previous words to feel anything else. A sudden warm, fluttery feeling occurs and I'm a loss for words. It's...that's so sweet; I'm honestly really touched. Audrey did that for me? To make sure I don't fall behind? Why? I try to mutter out a thank you, but to my dismay, my throat is all choked up, and all that comes out is a squeak; so not cool.

"When I was walking by, though, I noticed something in your yard," she suddenly adds in, "And I thought it might belong to someone in your family?"

She lifts her arms to present what she's talking about. I look down, and the breath rushes out of my lungs.

In her grasp, a little dirty but otherwise in one piece, is Leech Woman.

My hands shoot up, wanting to just get her back in my arms as quick as possible, but I force myself to at least try and make an effort to not seem like a total freakazoid. I take her from Audrey's hands, being mindful of not being too rough as I cradle her to my chest. The emotion completely takes me over, though, and I can't control myself as I hold Leech Woman tightly. _I'm never going to let you go_ , I think to myself.

"Oh, thankyouthankyouthankyou, Audrey!" I repeat as I hold Leech Woman out, relief washing over me like a tidal wave. I smooth Leech's hair, feeling her arms to make sure nothing's damaged. Hell, I could cry, I'm so happy.

It isn't until I feel Audrey staring at me that I realize how this must come off as; I can feel my ears and cheeks burn with embarrassment as I Leech behind my back, shifting my toes. I cough into my hand.

"A-anyways...t-thank you. Um, ah, w-would you like to come in?"

Audrey looks past me in the living room, unsure. She asks, "I-I don't know, are you parents okay with that?"

I hadn't even thought of that. I look at the clock above the sink. 1:55. Mom shouldn't be home for another hour or two- she has to take Josie to the doctor. I'm all alone for the next hour. Her and Paul probably wouldn't approve of me having people without them around, and especially without their permission or knowledge. What I should be doing is going back to bed and resting before I aggravate my injuries anymore.

But my feelings of having my crush in my house overcomes those thoughts, and a shred of disappointment comes up when I think about Audrey just up and leaving. I don't want her to leave.

"What they don't know won't hurt them, r-right?" I try to play it smooth, "And plus, I mean, you're already here. We can work more on the project; y-you know, so we get can get done quicker?"

She keeps looking at me, unconvinced. "I don't know, Gaelin," she responds, "Are...are you sure you should be doing anything right now in...in your state?"

"Please?" I press. I hate how desperate I sound.

Audrey's mouth moves into a thin line. She stares at me for a moment, before she shrugs.

"Fine. But I'm not covering your ass if you get caught."

I grin, way too excited and relieved. I lead her to the stairs and we start up them. As we're making our way up, I hold Leech Woman up to eye level, double-checking to make sure nothing happened. _Are you okay?_ I mouth to her.

She responds with the tiniest nod of her head. I sigh in relief.

Obviously, I did not think this plan through, as when we get to my room, I realize one very important thing has completely slipped my mind.

The dolls.

If I let her in, Audrey will see the dolls.

"Is something wrong?" I hear her ask when I pause outside my door, hand on the knob. I freeze up.

What if she freaks out? What if she's disgusted? I don't know how I could bear Audrey of all people getting those same thoughts. I could handle it from everyone else, but the thought of her sharing their sentiments makes it especially hard. I swallow roughly.

"I-It's nothing," I answer.

I brace myself and open the door, letting her in. I keep my eyes closed, holding Leech closer to my chest. The boys have gotten the scenario down to a T, at least, dropping like flies on the bed.

"...Wow," I hear her say. But it's not a freaked out wow, or a sarcastic one. It's a genuine one. I look at her. She's slowly turning, taking all the dolls in. Her eyes are sparkling, amazed as she gazes upon them with wonder. She turns back to me, smiling excitedly, much to my surprise.

"Gaelin...they're beautiful," she says.

Feeling bashful, I just shrug, trying to disguise the giddiness that comment really makes me feel. I walk over to the shelf above my bed, grabbing the puppets and setting them back on it to give her some room.

"Thanks. I've had years to build it up."

"Did you build those yourself?" she asks.

I look over my shoulder to see what she's talking about, finding her pointing at Torch and Leech, currently in my hands. I position them on the shelf, adjusting Leech's dress where it's been scrunched up in some places. "Um, actually, no. I bought these ones off an auction site."

"I feel like I've seen these before," she comments.

She's strolled right up next to me, her eyes furrowed as her eyes reflect her mental search for a connection. I try not to dwell on how close she is to me- the slight feel of her bust pressing against my elbow (shut up, Gaelin)- and look at the puppets, smoothing down Blade's coat.

"Yeah, well, they're over seventy years old. And this Toulon guy that created them was a children's puppeteer believe it or not-"

"Toulon?" Audrey suddenly shoots me a look, "As in Andre Toulon? You mean, that guy whose puppets that come to life kill people?"

Subconsciously, I've already imagined what questions she's going to ask and have planned out all my answers. The minute the words leave her lips though, any pre-thought out explanations die right in my mouth. My mouth hangs open, my hand still in the air. I can imagine I probably look like some weird mannequin.

"K-k-kill people?" is all I manage to say.

Audrey nods, gesturing to the puppets, "Yeah, you know, the puppets rumored to be able to come to life and off people to survive? After what happened at that hotel, I'm surprised they haven't been destroyed for evidence-"

"Wait, wait, wait," I hold my hands up, "What hotel?"

She stares at me, equally perplexed. "You know, the hotel that the creator went to before he killed himself? Where all those people died years later?"

I stare at her.

"You never heard of the Bodega Bay Inn murders?" Audrey raises an eyebrow, dipping her head. I slowly shake mine.

Audrey gestures to the puppets as she plops down on my bed. "There's this urban legend that this puppeteer fled Europe during the Holocaust and went to this hotel in California where he killed himself; people all said he was known for how lifelike his puppets were, and apparently actually had the ability to bring them to life. Like a twisted Geppetto and Pinocchio or something. Well, strangely enough, when they were cleaning the rooms of his belongings, they never found his puppets. Decades later, during the span of a couple of years, groups of people were brutally murdered in the hotel. There were sightings of strange toy-like items from other people staying in the hotel at the time. Soon, people had this whole conspiracy on the puppeteer's puppets coming back to life and killing people to retain their own lifespans."

A sudden chill crawls down my spine. That...that can't be right.

My puppets aren't killers. They're...they're not murderers. I mean, yeah, their appearances don't exactly give off the aura of a safe, welcome home, but...they wouldn't do that. Toulon wouldn't enforce something like that.

But yet...

A puppeteer who brought his puppets to life and died after fleeing Europe during the war.

I glance to the puppets, sitting still on my shelf like any other collector's item. Blade's knife and hook glimmer slightly in the daylight. I linger on Torch's missing hand, how the brief flames that shot out of it were bright red, boiling hot. I think of Tunneler and how he gets his namesake.

A sudden flashback comes to mind. Something I stumbled upon when I was translating Toulon's journal.

 _'We will show them. They will know when my puppets are the last thing to haunt their sight.'_

Puppets that came to life and killed people. The former statement isn't exactly off the mark. I should know, I discovered that statement.

I shake my head. No, she has to be mistaken. Why would these murders happen at random during the course of a few years? Who had discovered the puppets then? And even so, if this were true, why was I able to get my hands on them so easily? Surely such a dark history would make one wary to give away such a big secret to naive, reckless hands.

It's a gimmick, I tell myself. Something people spread around to try and make a profit off of selling their crappy inventions faster. There's dozens of items out there on the internet that people claim to be tied to the paranormal or some kind of crap like that- tales of haunted paintings that drive people insane, clothes that people died in that possess you, oujia boards. Hell, just how many movies have they made about dolls being possessed by the spirit of killers or some crap like that that claim to be 'based on factual events'?

"W-w-well you know, there's tons of urban legends," I try to counter. God, I hate the way I sound so unsure of myself. "Doesn't necessarily make them true."

"I'm not saying it is," Audrey defends, "I'm just surprised you haven't heard of it."

I try and shrug, deceive the doubt and fear that I'm really feeling, that I don't know why I'm feeling it. "I-I'm not really into spooky stuff like that."

Audrey just responds with a shrug of her own. She picks up her bag and unzips it, bringing out her notebook and folder. "Well, the more you know. Anyways, let's get to that project, since you talked me into staying."

I nod, sitting beside her after I've gathered my own notes. As we go over our research- reorganizing how everything's going to go when it comes to the final paper and presentation- I still find myself distracted by what Audrey said. It's a myth. Nothing more. Besides, even Audrey says that they didn't find the puppets when the guy- if he even is Toulon- killed himself. Where else would they go? He would've had to destroy them. Or hide them somewhere where nobody could ever find them.

Yeah, that's it. It's probably not even Toulon they're talking about. Some nameless puppeteer that just happened to get his name slapped on his case, just like the other hundreds of thousands of 'legends' of haunted things out there.

My eyes wander to the side for a minute; just a natural reaction when there's nothing interesting to keep a straight gaze on.

I stiffen when the side they wander to give me a perfect view of her chest. Her shirt's lowcut. I can see her cleavage.

My grip tightens on my paper. Stop looking, I tell myself. Mom raised you better than that.

I shift, trying to focus on something else, but my libido is a real bastard and keeps making look back at Audrey and overanalyze everything about her.

The way her hair falls partially shields her eyes as she keeps looking down at her notes, the light providing a beautiful contrast between the bright orange and yellow strands to the green in her eyes. How her skirt rides up a little and she's not wearing any tights, just these stockings that stop above her knees- her thighs are pressed together, looking almost milk white. They look so smooth. I know they're strong- Audrey's been in track this year, plenty of time to build muscle. I linger on her chest, noticing how the pendant on her necklace sits perfectly between her collarbones, on her pale neck.

Sadie's voice comes at me with a vengeance in my head, mocking me about how, despite my best efforts, I'm a little more than aroused right now.

 _You know how much you want her,_ it says.

 _Shut up, stop making out to be like I'm some kind of pervert._

I force my eyes to look down at my notes, my stare penetrating the paper like it's going to burn a hole through. Don't stare at her, don't think about her, don't think about how pretty she looks in the light, don't think about her lips, don't-

Shit. She's staring at me.

I don't want to look. Expose myself by the red in my face, the look in my eyes. But I feel like if I don't look, that's only going to make me seem more guilty. I settle for looking at Audrey through my peripheral, deciding that can't be too threatening.

Audrey isn't saying anything. The silence is maddening.

I turn my head more and make myself look.

She has this expression that I can't read. Her brows are furrowed like something's really bothering her, but she isn't exactly meeting my gaze.

I mumble, "I-i-is there something on my face?"

I bring a hand to my cheek, trying to feel if there's something on it. Suddenly, I become rigid when Audrey lifts her hand towards my face; I practically die when her hand cups my cheek, her fingertips just brushing the edges of the shiner. My eyes feel like the size of plates as I glance at her. What is she doing?

"Is this Holden's doing?" she asks, finally making eye contact. Now they have a serious glint in them; she means business.

I look down. Holden.

Does she know, I wonder, of what happened? Has the school been notified yet? Or are they keeping it a secret?

I don't answer her. My heart skips a beat when I feel her thumb lightly brushing my cheek. Her palm's really soft and warm; the metal from her rings are slightly cool, enough to give me a brief rush of goosebumps. (At least, that's what I tell myself they're from). Audrey's hand drops, and my mouth goes dry and when grabs mine, lacing our fingers together.

"Gaelin, I..." she trails off. Her head lowers, and she suddenly looks shy, like she's afraid to say what she's going to say. It's not like her. It makes me worried.

"Audrey, w-what is it?"

"I'm...I'm..." I see her swallow hard, like she has a lump in her throat, "I'm sorry."

"...For...what?"

"For...everything, I guess. Your dad, what Kailani did, what Holden did. I'm so sorry that this happened. For...for not being there." She lets go of my hand, putting them both in her lap.

"Audrey," I begin, "It...it's not your fault. You didn't do any of those things."

"No. But I didn't stop them either," Audrey points out, her lip jutting out.

We sit there in silence for a few seconds. I shift, uncomfortable. Audrey's shoulders drop and then she finally moves, gathering up her papers. She stands up, picking up her bag. "I think I should go."

"Audrey, wait," I hold my hand out as she goes- or, rather, speedwalks to my doorway. She slowly looks at me, like she's afraid of what I might say.

"Even if...even if you think that," I try to find the words, "Thank you. For now."

Audrey glares at me, seeming unsure if I'm sincere or not. A beat passes, and she simply nods, before shutting the door as she walks out. I stand there for a few seconds, alone again. I glance longingly at the door, wishing she'd come back.

There's suddenly a sound of chuckling coming from the wall.

I look over at the puppets. "What?" I ask, when they all just stare at me. "What is it?"

Six Shooter slowly nods his head, a slow, throaty chuckle coming from him. Blade and Pinhead nod as well. Jester's face is back to smiling, his head spinning for the fun of it. It takes me a moment to piece together what they're so happy about, and then I realize they've watched the whole thing.

I blush. "S-shut up!"

I turn away, hearing them hiss, obviously amused from my fumbling. I puff my cheeks out, trying to get rid of the heat in my neck and ears. As I do, though, a thought comes back to me.

A puppeteer who brought his creations to life that killed people.

I try to shrug it off like earlier, repeat to myself that it's just a rumor, a dumb ghost story made up by people with too much time on their hands. There's nothing to worry about.

So why do I feel like there's so much more I don't know yet?


	28. Dark Thoughts Eclipsing

**Chapter XVII: Dark Thoughts Eclipsing**

" _...so if you want to still come in, Grant says you could measure ingredients for the cooks,"_ I can imagine the grimace on Carter's face from the way he says the words with a bit of doubt, " _Though I tried telling him he should be training you to help host."_

I shrug, even though he can't see it. "Grant's trying to find what works for everyone."

" _But you shouldn't be doing anything that stresses your arm,_ " Carter counters, " _You need to be taking things slowly, not doing something that risks making the break worse."_

"Yeah, but I can't exactly stay away forever. I have to do something if I still want a job, you know," I try to argue; though if I'm honest, it's pretty relaxing to not get called in and have to deal with Grant's drill sergeant hammering. "A paycheck's still a paycheck."

Something moves, and I look over to see Pinhead has a book in his hands,waving it back and forth to try and get my attention. I flick my hand at him in attempt to show him that I'm busy at the moment.

" _Speaking of which, you still haven't picked yours from last month up yet. If you want, I could come by and drop it off for you."_

"That would be great, thanks Carter," I say.

He responds, _"No problem, buddy. You take it easy now, okay?"_

"Okay."

Carter says a quick bye and hangs up. I look at my phone; it feels weird, knowing Carter's looking out for me. I don't know, guess I just haven't felt like someone besides Mom has done that in a while.

I suddenly jump at the feeling of someone tapping on my arm, and spin in my chair to find Josie standing right next to me. I breath out a sigh of relief, putting a hand to my chest. I glance up at her, crossing my arms in mock disappointment.

"Now what did we say about coming into rooms without knocking, little lady?" I pretend-scold as I try to muster up my best glare. Josie swings her arms behind her, giving me a big smile that is anything but apologetic.

"I did, but you didn't answer," she claims, raising her hands up like she owns she has the one-up.

I sneer. Smart-Alec. I turn more in my seat and put my hands in my lap. "So what's up, Josie-cat?"

"It's too hot in my room. But I can't reach the vent," she explains, looking at me with those big, round, puppy-dog blue eyes, "But I don't want to wake Mommy. Can you do it, please?"

Hands down, my sister is the best. I nod, "I can, just give me a few seconds and I'll be there."

I turn away, trying to finish up the last few words on my laptop, before I see a movement to my right and hear Josie's surprised gasp. "Are these your dollies?"

I turn to see her gazing down at the puppets on the bed, her eyes widened like I just gave her all the toys in the world, her mouth open and smiling in excitement. I smile.

"They're actually puppets, Josie-cat," I say as I lean towards her, watching as her pudgy hands hover over the puppets.

She furrows her brows. She comments, "They look so _weird_."

"Yeah, but they're one of a kind. Pretty neat, huh?!"

Her hand grasps the edge of Jester's shirt, and she giggles as she looks him over. "This one looks funny."

I give a huff of agreement. Josie suddenly whirls around to me, clasping her hands together as her eyes shine with giddiness.

"Could I please take one to school with me, Gaeley? For show and tell? I promise I'll be extra careful!" she pleads, jumping up and down with anticipation.

I suddenly freeze. It's an innocent question, but all it does is make me think back to when they came to school with me. How scared I was when I realized I left without Blade, Shooter, and Pin; the anxiety driving me over the edge, constant thoughts of if they got damaged or broken. I swallow hard when I think back to what happened to Goselyn, the way she is now sitting at the bottom of a drawer.

And that happened with people my age.

But them with first graders- little kids that don't wash their hands and put everything in their mouths and throw things in the air because it's cool? Hell no.

I snap out of it and clear my throat, trying to disguise the lump in my throat when I respond. "Sorry, kiddo, no can do. I'm afraid these guys are for display only."

Josie immediately deflates, shoulders dropping, her face going into extreme pout-mode. She juts her quivering lip out in a way that says we're headed into tantrum territory. "Please?"

I shake my head, "I can't. They're too fragile."

"Pretty please? With sugar on top?"

Gotta hand to the kid, she's clever. But I won't be swayed that easily.

"No," I say a bit more sternly.

"Please, Gaeley?" she persists, "I promise that I'll be careful! I won't even take him outside my backpack for that long! I-"

"Josie, I said _no."_

It comes out a lot harsher than I intended it to, and I grimace in regret internally when I see Josie hitch her shoulders and pull back like she's been hit, clenching her fists at her sides and staring down, sherbert colored curls hanging in her face; she's close to crying. Great. I've been short and exasperated with Josie before, yes- she is a little kid after all- but very rarely have I reached the point of snapping.

I look up at the ceiling and keep a sigh of frustration from coming out. I don't want her to cry, but the only way to stifle that would be to give in to her demands, and I'm not risking the puppets' safety again.

Looking back down, my heart twists in a knot when I see Josie's shoulders trembling. I sit on the bed.

"Aw, I'm sorry, Josie-cat. I didn't mean to snap. It's just...the puppets came with me to school one day and let's just say they almost got hurt. I just don't want to risk that happening again. Maybe you could bring one of the other dolls in here, how about that?"

Josie looks up at me, inspecting my face for what I assume to be doubt. She gives a slow nod, even though I can tell she's not all that happy about the compromise. I look around, trying to find something to distract her, when I suddenly notice something glinting on her wrist.

"What's that?" I ask, pointing.

Josie looks down, holding up her hand. It's some kind of charm bracelet, with different symbols strung on it. It works, though, as a big giant grin stretches on her face as she holds it out for me to see.

"Isaac gave it to me! He says it's all the symbols for the planets, because the planets were named after gods in mythology, and they each had a different symbol to repesent them, like this one is Mercury! This one is Venus, this one is Ura...Ura-Uranus! And this one is..."

And like that, all of talk of bringing dolls to school is forgotten. I give myself a secret pat on the back for using the short attention span of the seven year old mind to my credit, and focus all my attention on as Josie rambles about half-truths of the things on her bracelet and how Isaac has quickly become her idol.

* * *

"Well, Mr. Killough, I would first like to say that we are sincerely grateful that you are making an excellent recovery and have decided to come back to school even in your...condition. After all, your education is still important," Mr. Rog says as he sits at his desk, hands folded across. I shift in my seat. The plastic chair's digging into my back.

"It...it wasn't really my choice to come back," I mumble.

"Secondly," he rambles on, completely ignoring me, "Some of your schoolmates have brought to my attention some...issues you seem to have been having this past year. And while we can obviously bring no action against Miss Makoa nor Mr. Loftis due to the...atrocious circumstances that befell them, I do hope that this is a wake-up call for you to know that if someone is giving you a hard time, never hesitate to come to the counselor and let us know."

I blink at him owlishly, not saying anything in response. Asshole. Of fucking course, the school doesn't do shit when it's right in front of their faces, and it takes two kids getting offed for them to realize they fucked up somewhere down the line. Useless bastards.

I think back to when they defaced my locker and Tony tripped me. When Holden slammed my face against the table; Mr. Rog was there for both those times. 'Let us know' my ass.

But I don't say anything, just continue to look ahead while Mr. Rog rambles on about this and that, occasionally staring at the clock and trying not to agonize how slow the hands are moving. Finally, clapping his hands together like he's so proud of himself and the 'progress' we've made, he writes me a pass. "And once again, Mr. Killough, we are glad to see you back at school," he comments.

"Whatever," I mutter under my breath as I turn and leave his office.

I keep my head down as I look back to close the door, trying not to notice the sudden silence that's happened the minute I step foot into the hallways. The whispering starts up just as quickly, the sound grinding against my ears like the chirping of a million cicadas.

" _Dude, what's he doing back here?"_

" _Damn, his face is fucked up."_

" _How is he still allowed to go here after what he did to Kailani?"_

" _I heard he had something to do with what happened to Holden and Tony too."_

" _Why would you even want to come back with something like that on your head?"_

They don't know anything. Nothing but a bunch of gnats is what they are.

I sit through first, second, and third period, not even bothering to try and pay attention to what's going on. I sit with my head down, drawing random sketches in my notebook. Some delicate, doe-eyed dolls in dainty Victorian dresses, others jagged and cracked dolls, with missing eyes and broken cheekbones and spider-like limbs. Fourth period I don't even bother showing up to- if I have to smell Jamie's weed breath one more time, I'm going to throw up- deciding to sneak away to the library where I also spend the entirety of lunch at, reading up on anatomy and see if the price of glass eyes has gone down at all.

Audrey texts me at one point. I don't look at it. I don't feel like it today.

"Now, sometimes, when you do find the angle, you may come up with a negative number," Mrs. Dwight prattles on as she continues writing on the smartboard. Everyone around me takes notes, their heads down. I just lay my head on my arms, staring ahead. I haven't even bothered to open my notebook.

I made a point to sit at the corner desk in the very back. I don't miss the way everyone seems to have made a point to avoid the seats around me. Fine with me, bastards.

"When this happens, if the vector is positioned where the angle falls somewhere in the third or fourth quadrant, you must remember to add one hundred eighty degrees to it so -"

The door swings open, and all heads turn to see Sadie standing in the doorway. She looks like she'd rather be anywhere but here (feeling's mutual), her hand holding her backpack by one strap, a wide frown on her face as she sags her shoulders, a crumpled pass in one hand.

I lift my head slightly. She definitely looks like she's seen better days- her hair lacks its usual styling straightness, being gathered into a messy ponytail. There's faint greyish lines under her eyes, like her mascara's run- obviously she's been crying, her eyes all red and puffy.

"Aw, Sadie," Mrs. Dwight comments as she crosses her arms, "Glad to see you could join us today. Please take your seat."

Sadie doesn't say anything, just shooting her an annoyed look, though she holds out her pass. She turns without a second glance and starts making her way towards the back.

She catches my glance, and freezes as she stares me down, her fists clenching. The absolute hatred in those grey eyes doesn't suit her- Sadie's a really pretty girl, I'll admit, but the glare and the crinkled lines on her forehead suddenly make her look forty years older.

I stare back.

Please, god, for _once_ , just give me a fucking break.

Everyone seems to notice the tension, as some of the kids in the row in front of me turn their heads at her. I notice how some of them put their phones on their desk, ready for a fight to break out.

"Sadie, sit down, please," Mrs. Dwight orders from the front.

She obeys, but doesn't take her eyes off of me as she sits somewhere off to the right. I tear my eyes away, staring at the black and white pictures on the board. I look at the clock. Twenty more minutes. Can't go by any faster.

"Now, class, open your textbooks and start on the problems on pages fifty-six and fifty-four."

I try to distract myself, though all the words bounce around in my head and make zero sense. I try to make up with simple trigonometry, though the feeling of someone watching me sits on my shoulders. I raise my head, slowly, staring to the right.

Sadie's texting on her phone, it sitting in her lap. She seems to finish and shifts, glancing over to the left at somebody. I hear the sound of a phone buzzing on the table. My gaze slides to the left as I notice another girl- I believe it's Evelyn Walters- pick hers up, a slight scoff coming from her as she raises her head, presumably sharing a look with Sadie. I see her fingers tapping on the screen.

Ignore them. It doesn't have anything to do with you, I try and tell myself.

I'm not convinced.

There's another buzzing, and the screen of Nikkie Hansfield's phone, whose sitting perpendicular to my left, lights up. She looks at it, and I hear her stifle a giggle, one of her hands going to her mouth. She suddenly looks over her shoulder at me, her freckled face making something twist in my gut.

I glance back. She looks back down to her phone. And like the other two, starts replying.

And before I know it, there's buzzing all over the place.

Another buzz. Another small laugh.

To my left, to my right, in front of me.

There's buzzing right in my ear.

Ringing in my ears, the vibrations crawling over my skin.

My breathing turns raggedy. I know it's about me.

Maybe about how I'm definitely guilty of killing Kailani, how I probably had something to do with Holden's truck blowing up even though I was in bed after he beat the shit out of me. Maybe they're finding ways to make the story more interesting that it already should be- probably adding details of how I probably skin animals alive and drink the blood of babies, possibly a little necrophilia involved. Maybe they're saying I'm insane. That I'm planning on another one right now.

Of course that's what they're talking about. That's what it's always been about, hasn't it? Stupid little Gaelin gets the short end of the stick, gets to be the butt of the joke and he doesn't even know it. All the fucking, goddamn time. Everyone is suddenly a genuis, suddenly everyone knows every goddamn detail about my life, even though I've never said a word to them. Suddenly everyone thinks they know me inside and out.

Oh, they don't even know the half of it. They only see what they want to, think of me the way they think someone like me should be.

Think of me because of what people like Sadie tell them I'm like. Sadie- someone who barely passed freshmen year, who was nothing more than Kailani's little lap dog, who acts like she's Miss America when the only reason she even has good wealth is because her mom married rich after suing the pants off her dad, whom she had cheated on- suddenly is the all knowing, the one who everyone should go to because they can't mind their own goddamn business.

Fuck her. Fuck them. All of them.

They can all rot in hell for all I care.

A hand on my shoulder snaps me out of it, and I glance up to see Mrs. Dwight looking at me, her brow lined in concern.

"Are you okay?" she whispers gently.

I shake my head, looking at the clock. To my surprise, there's only five minutes left. Was I thinking that all this time? I stutter, my mind at a blank, "Um, y-yeah."

Mrs. Dwight looks down at my paper, frowning. Probably a bit disappointed in the lack of work. "It's not good to slack off, Gaelin," she reprimands, "I know you're bored, but that's no excuse to waste class time in la-la land."

Bitch.

I don't say anything, so she just turns away with a satisfied 'hmph'. I watch her back, glaring into the back of her grey streaked bun.

I try not to notice how I catch Sadie staring at me again.

* * *

"Why can't they ever just leave me alone?" I ask to no one as I lie on my bed, staring at the wall.

Pinhead sits on the edge of my nightstand, his large hands in his lap. He grunts, probably trying to give something of comfort.

"I don't know why I suddenly became everyone's punching bag. It's like one minute I don't do something, and all of a sudden, it's a fucking free-for-all for everyone to pass me around," I continue.

Leech Woman pets my head in some semblance of comfort, and I give her a half-smile. At least they understand.

Pinhead looks over as my phone suddenly dings. He hands it to me and I look at it. It's an unknown number.

 _Hey Galelin! Check out our new project!_

There's a link copied in the text. I open my messages and glance at it. It's not a url I'm familiar with, either. My finger hovers over the hyperlink.

Something akin to dread starts stirring at the bottom of my stomach.

It tells me it can't be anything good. I don't know this number, but they apparently know me. That's not a good sign. It wants something from me- something I probably don't want to give. It tells me to ignore it, delete it instantly, go about my afternoon without giving it a second thought.

The other part of me, wins though.

I click on it.

It switches my screen to Safari. It's nothing more than a bright blue backdrop with a grey pop-up window in the middle of the screen. _Do you wish to continue? Yes No_ is all it says.

Don't do it, one part says.

I click 'yes'.

At first, all that develops is a black 90's-style chatroom, with thick orange bordered boxes.

Then, I come face to face with my own picture at the top.

My heart drops.

It's my school picture from freshman year, when I still had a lot of baby fat on my cheeks. Someone's photoshopped horns and a handlebar mustache onto it. There are words beneath it too.

 _Gaelin Killough Hate-Site, Psycho Extraordinaire_

I feel sick. They have my date of birth listed. So is my address and my phone number.

A lump in my throat appears when I see a picture of today. Looks like someone took it when I was walking through the hallways. A filter's been put on, giving the whole thing a sepia tone. I look like a ghost from a horror movie, the way my eyes look sunken in. I'm looking down. Probably from when I came out of Mr. Rog's office.

There's a link for comments.

The rational part of me tells me there's nothing good to be found in there. I click anyway.

 _BlaireBear96: When u make sugar daddy mad_

 _Jdog0307: looked like a bloody tampon lol_

 _loca-lupe: its an improvement, but him getting hit by a train would b even better_

 _uknowitcantbegood: surprised he didnt get worse, im only sad I wasnt there to get in on the ass whooping_

 _Alex!sArq &ette: ^^^^^wish I could've taken a swing myself, fucker deserves a bludgeoning for what he did to Kailani_

 _OooohBooooyooo: Holy shit did he actually really kill a girl?_

 _Mustbeaginger_LP: Apparently he broke into her house and killed her when she was home alone. Like, tortured her and shit like that. All because she took like a thing of his or something_

 _hey_its_matty: It was a doll, because he has this weird thing with collecting little girl's toys. What a sick fuck_

 _Tobleroooon: My bet is he's a tranny or something. Wants to be a girl, that's why he does that_

 _Lululimey2027: Omg doesnt he have a little sister or something? God knows wtf hes doing to that poor girl_

 _RaddyxRichie: Why doesn't he just kill himself already? Or somebody get him? Either way, good riddance_

I feel tears prick my eyes. My knuckles turn white as I grip my phone. The casing bends.

They really feel that way, do they? Think that everyone's better off, that I'm really a horrible disgusting monster, and yet I'm nothing more than a weak little pussy at the same time? Fucking cowards; so easy for them to talk shit across a keyboard, when they won't do jack shit in real life.

I let loose a snarl and hurl my phone across the room. The puppets jump as it smacks against the wall and I stand up, anger flowing through me.

I punch the wall, rage dulling the pain in my knuckles. I'm seething.

"Let them fucking try to get rid of me," I hiss, "Then they'll _really_ know a monster."


	29. The Fight

**Chapter XVIII: The Fight**

A few days later, Mom invites Mr. Frost and Isaac over for dinner. It's a little awkward- Mr. Frost always looks like he's mean mugging you, and generally doesn't seem to enjoy conversation at all- but Josie is completely ecstatic, constantly talking to and listening to Isaac. He's only been here a few months, but for her he's practically the best thing since sliced bread.

"So, Sacramento?" Paul asks Isaac after wiping his mouth, "That sounds like a big change, coming from somewhere big like this all the way down to this small little suburb."

"It's not too bad," Isaac responds, twirling his fork around more noodles, "I didn't live in the city, so it wasn't that dramatic. I don't know, the high life was never really for me, you know? Plus, it's nice to be closer to family."

"Oh, absolutely. It gets so much better to not to worry as much for spending money on plane tickets and trying to figure out the schedule to visiting," Mom comments.

"Speaking of which, have you called your mother recently?" Mr. Frost questions as he completely mean mugs Isaac.

Isaac rolls his eyes, "Yes, Granddad. Just this morning. You were _there_."

"Well do it again as soon as we get home! Poor girl's all alone out there, it wouldn't hurt you to talk to her more!" He immediately orders, earning an eye roll from everyone. Yep, good old Mr. Frost. Josie giggles, completely bemused. I keep my head down, trying to focus on my food. School's been really trying me the last few days, and the waking up to thousands of death threats on voicemail hasn't done anything to soften my mood.

"What about you Gaelin? Anything exciting happen to you lately?" Isaac looks over at me, gently smiling. "Anything happening at school?"

Oh, only that I got shoved against the lockers about fifty times, got water dumped in my bag so now all my notebooks are completely ruined, and am now starting to think someone's trying to hack my phone on the fact that I received about forty texts that all redirected to porn sites. Just peachy.

I look at him before I shrug. "N-nothing much."

"Bet you're looking for spring break, right?"

I shrug again. Mom and Paul have talked about us going on a road trip, but I've been on the fence. It's been such a long time since I've ridden in a vehicle. Still, it would be nice to get away from all of this for a few days.

Josie suddenly perks up, darting her head straight at me. She loudly blurts, "Gaeley, you should show Isaac your dollies!"

I stare at her, my eyes wide. My fork is gripped so hard my fingers become an opaque white. The conversation all stops, and I can feel everyone's eyes on me. My jaw gets stiff.

"Dolls?" Isaac says slowly.

"Yeah, and he has these really cool puppets too!" Josie continues, not having the slightest clue of the can of worms she's just possibly opened, "He collects them, just like our daddy used to! He has a lot- they take all these shelves around his room, and they're really pretty, and Gaeley takes really good care of them-"

" _Josephine_ ," Mom chastisizes, trying to dispel the situation.

My face burns, and I stare at my plate like it's about to break in half.

"Still?" Mr. Frost questions, "I would've thought you got rid of those things, start doing something more suited to a boy your age!"

My fist clenches.

"Granddad, there's nothing wrong with collecting toys," Isaac scolds, "Sorry about that, Gaelin. It does sound interesting. I would like to see them some time, if you're comfortable with that."

I look up at him. I search for any sign of fakeness, but to my surprise, his eyes are nothing but sincere. It doesn't really help the awkwardness, though, so I just sink further into my seat, hoping someone switches the subject.

"Boy, sit up! Keep that up and you'll have a hunchback before you're thirty!" Mr. Frost barks at me. I bite my lip, having to keep myself from saying something that would insult both him and Isaac and make Mom slap me silly.

Paul quickly clears his throat and asks Mr. Frost of what he thinks of the presidential election, and luckily, everyone's attention is soon taken off of me. I still squirm in my seat, playing around with my food and wishing that I could excuse myself. But Paul was adamant that I be there for whatever reason for the whole time ("It's not polite to leave when we have company, Gael'"), so I have to spare my personal comfort and have to try and not look impatient when the clock doesn't go fast enough.

* * *

Wednesday starts off nowhere near to a good start.

First, I wake up to Mom shaking me, and learn that I seemingly forgot to set my alarm, so I have to leave the house without taking a shower or finishing up on redoing all the homework that was ruined like I planned; I end up tripping as I get down the porch and not only get my jeans and shirt dirty, but my knee hurts with every single step, so I get reduced to limping. The days are getting warmer, but it's still freezing in the morning and I forget to grab my thicker jacket, so I'm nearly a Popsicle by the time I get to the front doors. I'm almost late and don't have time to go to my locker, so I have to race to class, only to sit down and realize I forgot my book and my wallet.

Yeah, you could say mornings suck.

"Now, as we continue on reading, notice how Capote delves into a lot of detail on the personal backgrounds of Hickock and Smith. Many criticize this choice, as they claim that it feels as if he almost trying to glorify them, make them seem like victims of circumstances themselves," Mr. Petinsky lectures as he paces throughout the room, his copy of his book in his hands.

It's hard to hold my book with the cast, so I have to pin the right side under my elbow and hold the flap open with my left hand. I flip through the pages. The book is boring as all hell, so I've pretty much skimmed or skipped entirely on the assigned reading, going ahead to the interesting parts. It's crap, honestly. I could honestly give less of a damn if these two guys had horrible childhoods and whatnot, they still killed four people, still possibly raped and killed another girl.

They fucking deserve it. How this guy worked alongside Harper Lee I'll never understand. What is it with all these true crime writers trying to make you sympathize with criminals? Most of them knowingly broke the law and arrogantly thought they couldn't get caught.

Just like the other car's driver the night of the accident.

My hand subconsciously tightens my grip on the book. _Don't go there_ , I tell myself, _You'll only make yourself more upset_. A block of pink suddenly catches my eye as a few pages flip, and I look down to see a piece of paper stuck between the pages. I flip to the passage. It's a sticky note, dark blue writing on it.

 _Guess the punishment meets the crime, doesn't it, Gael-gael?_

I tear the sticky note off and scan the passage. It's all about the sentencing of the killers, how they were hanged as part of their sentence.

I grit my teeth. Someone probably got a hold of my book when I was using the bathroom one day or the other.

The note crumples in my hand. This is not turning out to be a good day. I go to second period and end up getting my ass kicked in dodge-ball- both from the opposing team, who've declared me their favorite target, and from my own teammates, who don't hesitate to shove me to the floor- along with earning a nice large bruise on my calf to go with the one forming on my knee.

I try not to let the other guys notice that I hear their whispering.

" _You really think he did it? With THOSE gangly limbs?"_

" _Never underestimate the worms, bro. They're often the worst ones in the head."_

Another note falls out as I grab my shirt- this time, it's on yellow construction paper, the writing in dark green, what looks to be gel pen.

 _Poisoning the mouse kills the owl_

What the fuck does that even mean? I shove the note back in the locker, slamming it before I make a beeline for the gym doors, ignoring how everyone watches me leave.

I pass by a group of freshmen who are crowded near the lockers as I make my way to mine. They all huddle around each other, their baby faces and braces and badly dyed hair tips making them look more like sixth graders.

"Is that the guy responsible?" one whispers loudly.

"Yeah. His face looks better than from what I was told, though."

"Why isn't he in jail yet?"

Goddammit, I can't ever catch a break, can I? I whip my head over my shoulder, making it clear I can hear them. They squeak and dart their heads down, their voices much quieter. Probably think I'm going to sneak into their houses and cut their faces open during the night. Little fuckers. I head to my locker, and my mood immediately sours more when I see familiar words written on it.

 _ **KILLER**_

It's a different type of lipstick this time, though. This time, Sadie's gone out of her way to choose a dark red color, the letters painted over several times to make the coloring bold, the letters thick and solid.

I suppress a growl before I stomp into the bathroom to grab some paper towels, rubbing it off; it's heavily dried, and this time I actually groan in frustration as I put more force into it. It's still not coming off. I scratch at it with my nails, having to keep from outright screaming as only a few bits of it come off a little bit at a time. I finally use my sleeve and basically shove it against the door, though I only get more pissed off when I see how it stains my jacket. It's going to be hell to clean out, even though the words are finally erased off my locker.

"Morning, Gaelin!" Mr. Ramirez greets, "How are you doing today?"

I just give off a murmur, not looking at him as I waltz pass. I don't see Audrey anywhere, so I just take a seat near the end of the third row. I put my head in my arms and close my eyes. My head hurts.

"So I said, 'Well, it's not like I wasn't honest with you about it', and he just totally got on his knees and begged me to take him back," Sadie's voice chimes in from the front.

I glance up to find her walking in with two other girls beside her, all of them chatting away like they don't have a care in the world. That immediately changes, though, when she immediately looks in my direction and stops, staring at me. I stare back. The girls- one on either side- look at her, confused as to the sudden change in expression, before they follow her gaze; as soon as their eyes land on me, a look of understanding comes over them, and they share her distasteful sneer.

Sadie's eyes keep lingering. There's something in them, something that tells me she's going to try and start something.

But she doesn't. She just flips her hair and they make their way over to their seats on the opposite side of the room. I turn away, closing my eyes and trying to take deep breaths. Just take it easy, Gaelin. It'll all be over soon.

Ramirez shuts the door as the bell ring, and I feel someone's eyes on me. I look over to find Audrey sat a few chairs down. I just look at her.

 _Are you okay?_ She mouths.

 _No,_ I say back.

The lecture begins, and I get lost in the colors of the maps on the board. My phone buzzes- Audrey probably texting me, but I don't bother pulling it out. Ramirez goes on about something or other, but the feeling that I'm still being watched starts lingering over me. I look to Audrey. Her head's down, only lifting to read the words on the board before she copies them down. I look around the room.

Sadie's glaring at me.

It's not a nice expression- her eyebrows are furrowed, and I can see her grip her pen like it could snap in half at any moment. One of her friends murmurs something to her, but she doesn't take her eyes off of me, like she's trying to melt my head off or something.

It's irking. Seriously, am I a fucking zoo animal or something?

"-resulting in what many would come to know as a brutal lynching, where he was severely tortured before being burned alive. The story became infamous when it was discovered that not only did the townspeople take pieces of Jesse's corpse and bones and sell them as souvenirs, but that pictures of the murder were also made into postcards in Waco," Ramirez narrates, "Now, even for its time period, many across the US condemned the crime for its level of brutality."

He walks over to his desk before turning around and leaning against it, asking, "Now, could someone tell me why, why this was? Why, when lynching was still practiced and in fact supported by the public, why would this incident change that?"

Several hands go up. Sadie still's staring at me. I have to tear my gaze away- if I don't I swear I'm going to snap.

"Gaelin?"

My head looks up. Mr. Ramirez is looking at me, his eyes expectant. Of course, that then makes everyone else look at me, and my face heats up in embarrassment. I fiddle with my shirt hem, not knowing what to say.

"Gaelin?" he repeats, more of an edge, "What do you think?"

"It..." I stammer, trying to put together the words that will make my answer at least sound halfway decent, "I-i-it let people see that despite it's supposed progress, Waco still put up with hate crimes against the black community; i-it really opened people's eyes as to what was going on, made them see just what they were excusing in the so-called name of 'justice.'"

Mr. Ramirez nods, "So you're saying that this helped them change their minds?"

I shake my head, "Not necessarily, but it kinda made the US...well, it made them take off the rose glasses. The coverage forced people to see lynching for what it was- barbaric and savage, not excuse it as vigilante justice."

That earns a smile from Ramirez, and he nods his head in approval. "Very nice, Gaelin. I was starting to worry that I was losing your focus."

" _Yeah, he'd know about barbaric and savage_ ," someone hisses, causing a few snickers among the class.

My hand clenches on my desk. Ramirez waves his hand.

"Okay, all of you calm down. Now, next Thursday we're going to be having the class review for the test, so it's important that-...Yes, Sadie?"

My shoulders clench at the mere sound of her name, and I look over to see what she's doing. Sadie's no longer staring at me, looking at Ramirez with a calm expression as she raises her hand high in the air, the various charms on her bracelet reflecting the light. When he acknowledges her, she slowly lowers it, wiggling her shoulders and sitting up in her seat- the portrait of a simple, dainty school girl.

"I have to say, I disagree with the message," she explains as she bats her eyes in that way people do when they think they actually have a point (when they really don't).

Ramirez furrows his brows as he crosses his arms. "And what do you mean by that?"

Sadie folds her hands, "Well, I'm just saying, I don't think it's right to simply excuse the townspeople's actions as just blatant racism. They simply wanted justice for a poor woman's brutal death."

"You don't think them sentencing, torturing, and murdering a mentally disabled African American man who had absolutely no evidence to the crime and flaunting this to the rest of the world had nothing more to do with it than race?" Ramirez frowns, and I can see the disgust and shock on some of the other students' faces.

If she notices, Sadie doesn't let it show. She simply shrugs, "I mean, what they did was wrong and extreme, but they only had good intentions in mind. A poor woman was murdered, and they wanted justice for her. I'm sure anyone in their shoes would be willing to go the extent they did to get justice for people they loved."

Several scoff- is she for real?- and Ramirez rolls his eyes. "Well, Sadie, I'm sorry to tell you that any history book would tell you that there were a great number of innocents who died under the guise of-"

"Our justice system is nowhere near perfect, and sadly, there's also a good number of obviously guilty people who are allowed to roam free without a care in the world. Their family suffers in silence, but do the care? No. And a lot of the time, they go back and kill again and spread their grief even further. That'd be enough to drive anyone over the edge," she interrupts, rambling on. At her last words, she looks directly at me.

It earns several 'oohs' as people look between me and her, their eyes wide as dinner plates. Ramirez seems to notice this, and raises his hands.

"Sadie, that's enough-"

"People who kill innocents are the scum of the earth. They think they're in a position to decide who lives and dies, when in reality, the people who deserve to die are THEM," she continues, "And when this shit system doesn't do anything to stop them, it's only natural that the people fed up the with injustice take matters into their own hands. For them to let this scum know it's not going to be tolerated, and that they BETTER watch their backs."

She stands up, continuing to glare at me.

Before, that glare probably would've intimidated me, would've had me drowning in humiliation as Kailani and Holden joined in, taking pride in how riled up I've gotten.

Only Kailani and Holden aren't here anymore.

And instead of intimidation, all I feel is outright fury.

I'm fucking pissed.

"Don't. Push it, Sadie," I just say in a low voice, matching her with my own challenged glare.

The 'oohs' get louder, and this time people are turning in their seats. Probably surprised that little Gaelin stood up for himself, for once. Yeah, well getting the shit beat out of you and constantly getting labeled as things you're not in a sham of a witch hunt can do a lot to you.

"Sadie, sit down this instant," Ramirez starts forward, grabbing her arm.

She rips her arm away, storming towards me. She seems almost ignorant of where she is, storming towards me as she snarls.

"And what the fuck are you going to do about it, Killough? Everyone knows just what you did. Only a fucking freak like you would want to do something as horrible as to what you did to Kailani and the boys. We all know you're guilty, so why don't you fess up already?!"

She stands before me, her fists balled and her teeth showing like an angry lion.

"I'm not fessing up to shit," I snap, "I didn't do a goddamn thing to your fucking friends, Sadie."

"Oh, bullshit!" she spits, a hurricane brewing in those stormy grey eyes, "You're so full of shit! Kailani wasn't perfect, but she didn't fucking deserve to die! You just can't stand the fact that everyone else is happy and that you're nothing more than a little a freaky little shit who'd rather fucking play with fucking dolls! No, you have to tear everyone down around you!"

I scoff, shaking my head, "Look who's fucking talking."

"All of you, sit down," Ramirez commands as he gets between us.

"SHUT UP!" Sadie screams, "Shut the fuck up! You freak! You murderer! You, you, you creep!"

Before I even know what's happening, she slaps me across the face.

Her nails are long and I feel them dig into my face, stinging. I'm stunned, but before I can fully comprehend what she's done, Sadie pounces, knocking me out of my chair. She takes that as her chance to start wailing on me, punching me with thousands of punches that make me fall onto my back. I have to admit, the girl has a good right hook.

"GAELIN!" Audrey screams.

"Sadie, stop!" Mr. Ramirez yells as he runs over, trying to pull her off of me. Sadie refuses to let go, yanking on my shirt collar as she hits me in the head. I can dimly register that some are trying to help him, but the most of them get their phones out, some yelling 'Worldstar!' while they try and get as close as they can to the action.

Nothing registers for a moment. All I can feel is dim pain, and Sadie's feral expression.

Something akin to a damn bursts in my mind. The blacker part of my mind, the one I try to push away often, comes at me full force, the words I muttered only a few nights ago echoing.

 _She thinks you're a monster? Then, if a monster she wants, a monster she'll fucking **get**_ **.**

Audrey and a few others try to help Mr. Ramirez separate us, but at the moment, I don't care.

All I care about is seeing the little blonde bitch bleed.

Let her know what real pain is.

My body suddenly moves on its own- I don't even register what I'm doing at first as I get my feet between us, launching her off of me. Sadie staggers, and I jump to my feet, tripping over my own shoes as I try and get a balance. But before even of us seem to even grasp the gravity of the situation, I shoot up and swing my left hand, socking her everywhere and anywhere- her torso, her arm, her collarbone- before I land one final punch in the middle of her face.

She doubles over instantly, her hair covering her face as her hands shoot up to cover it.

The room goes silent.

Then it suddenly registers exactly what I've done.

I'm breathing hard, my fist still out in front of me. The others stare between us, and even Mr. Ramirez is at a loss for words. Audrey stares at me. I stare at her back. I feel like I'm disconnected from my body.

Sadie lifts her head, and my eyes widen- so does everyone else's, if the conjoined exclamation is anything to go by- when I see blood running from both her nose and her mouth. Her friends are instantly at her side, cradling her and trying to dab it as it starts to run down her chin.

 _Get the hell out of there_ , my brain tells me, _Get out and don't look back._

I dart at the ground, grabbing my bag as I rush for the door, not caring how I bang my thighs against the desks, or how it makes my knee scream out in having to stress against already inflamed muscles.

" _Gaelin!"_ Ramirez calls as I get out the doorway and race towards the exit, " _Gaelin, you get the hell back here right this instant! GAELIN!"_

Don't listen, don't listen. Get out of there.

I think I hear some of the boys trying to follow me, and that only makes liquid determination pump through my veins as I shoot my arms forward, ramming the doors open as I make a dash for the parking lot. Then the edge of the school. There's some shouting- I think it's the security guard- but I only push forward more, my arms bending to try and pump the adrenaline.

I get out onto the street and keep running.

Where? I don't know.

After what feels like a few miles, I finally run out of steam and have to sit down. My legs feel like jelly, and I can't take another step. My lungs are working overtime, my throat feels like it's burning as I struggle to gulp down hair. I stumble before finally plopping my ass down on the curb.

I feel gross. I've become all sweaty, and now my hair and face feel all oily, I can feel dampness under my arms, no doubt growing into pitstains.

I keep trying to catch my breath as I lift my head. Amazingly, I've all the way into town. The familiar signs of the bookstore and gym and little shops all present.

Suddenly catches my eye, and I look across the street to see where the frozen yogurt place used to be.

The door has blue and pink outlines all over it, an illustration of a smiling teddy bear and rag doll holding hands as they wave.

 _Hartwicke's Toys_ the sign reads in white curly cued letters. True to its name, I can see on the inside rows and rows of play items lining the shelves. I frown.

When did this place get here? I don't go in town as often as I used to- it's too far of a walk, but I don't really like being driven any place- so it probably got set up in the last few months. But it doesn't exactly look new, either.

My eyes wander the little display they have in the window, and my eye catches on the site of a beautiful doll, dressed to perfection in a white lace dress and bonnet, her honey blonde curls tightened to perfection, her painted on brown eyes and rosy cheeks a soft, serene expression.

Childish curiosity blooms in my chest, a nostalgic yearning to see what treasures lie inside urging me.

I shouldn't be here, though. I need to get home, get my story straight before Mom blows her top when she gets the call. Sadie started the fight, but school policy says I could be in trouble too for hitting her back- most likely even more for leaving the premises during hours. I should have gone to administration, show them evidence that I didn't instigate anything for anything. I need to call Paul, have him as my attorney or whatever if the little wretch wants to press charges, let them know who saw what to get on my side.

Oh, God, I'm in **deep** shit.

But I don't want to.

I'm so _fucking tired_ of having to always having to sort things out by myself.

I bite my lip.

After a moment, I get up, and make my way inside.


	30. Hartwicke's Toys

**Chapter XXIV: Hartwicke's Toys**

The smell of old wood and lemon polish hits my nostrils the second I step in, along with a wave of cool air that feels good to my sweltering body. A bell on top of the door dings, letting whoever's inside become aware of my presence- if there's even anyone here.

There's nobody in sight.

I put my hands in my pocket, looking around. It's a little old fashioned, with worn tile floors and paint chipping off of the old looking shelves. The art on the walls is all 90's era style of nothing but pastels; I also notice there's no lights on, all the lighting coming from the windows outside. There's a little plaque on the desk right in front of the door that says **Release your inner child!**

Browsing the shelves for a few seconds, I notice something right off the bat-they all appear made of porcelain with with very distinctive expressions, though their outfits differ from various time periods...honestly, they're actually really ugly. Their faces are really small and their features seem too close together; each of them have these dramatic painted on eyebrows that make all of them look really sinister and these weird ceramic eyes that look like they follow you everywhere you turn.

In fact, my eye catches one of this really ugly jester-looking doll. He has a hunchback and a giant hooked nose and a bulging forehead and really big cheeks, his overbite showing rugged teeth. He's dressed fancy in a pair of gold and black pajamas- it actually feels like silk- though they clash horrendously with the plain, old fashioned red stocking cap on his head. His brows are raised wide, beady blue eyes looking like he wants nothing but a good time, but somehow you just know he's up to something. They make me uneasy- I swear they turn in his head, keeping straight on me as I turn him right and left. And if I didn't know any better, I would've sworn his hands flinched on their own.

"Anything catch your eye yet, my boy?"

I almost drop the doll at the voice that suddenly talks right behind me. I whip around, staring at the old man who seems to just come out of nowhere.

He looks like he's somewhere between mid fifties and late sixties. He's tall and a bit on the bony side, his hair white, though I can see the faintest blonde tint to it. He has a long face and bushy eyebrows, his watery blue eyes looking soft, but yet I can see something deeper in them. Something more sinister, if that's possible. He's wearing a slightly loose white shirt, a brown apron pulled over it and his black pants. He has a soft smile on his face, but it doesn't do anything to lessen the sudden flush on my face.

"Oh, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to startle you," he adds, clapping his hands together, "I just couldn't help but notice that you seemed to have found our dear little Punch."

"Huh-what?" I ask.

"Mr. Punch!" he repeats, pointing to the jester, "A little dickens, he is! Always wanting to fool around, causing mischief, scaring the customers!"

He says this like it's the most natural thing in the world. I stare at him for a few minutes, before I realize I'm still holding the doll. I feel my cheeks heat up as I hold it out to him, tearing my gaze away. "I-I was j-just looking..."

"Oh, no need to apologize, son," he responds softly, though he takes the doll at my offer, "Please, feel free to play with as many as you like. I just ask that you please be careful, our friends here, as you can tell, are very fragile.

"Isn't that right, Mr. Punch?" He holds the jester doll up, looking at it with a big grin on his face, like anything's about to happen.

I raise an eyebrow. Okaaaaay, this guy's a weirdo. (Then again, am I really one to talk?)

"Yeah, he'll be our _special_ friend," a voice that's nowhere near like the old man's- whose lips and Adam's apple don't even twitch- responds. I swear the lower jaw on that thing is going up and down.

My eyes widen and my mouth goes dry. I blink- I have to be seeing things. I _have_ to.

I shake my head; come on, Gaelin, that's nonsense. I look around at the seemingly endless shelves of dolls and stuffed animals, their ceramic eyes feeling like they're all staring down into my soul. That's when I notice something weird- there's no repeats anywhere. Like, all of the dolls are different; hair color, clothing, design, _none_ of the dolls are exact copies of one or another. Like they're all meant for just one person.

"I'm glad to hear that," the old man replies, "I like to think so too, when I make them. Seems wonderful, everyone having their own special companion."

Shit, I didn't mean to say that out loud. My ears burn as I try to explain without sounding like a jackass, "I-I didn't mean to..."

I trail off, and then something in his words suddenly catches me off guard. I look back at him. "Wait...you...you made _all_ of these yourself?"

He smiles as he nods. "Yes. Every one, hand-crafted with love and care, and a little extra _something_ thrown in. As you can probably guess, I've had quite a few years to make a collection for myself."

I gaze up at all of them, now totally mind blown. There must be at least three hundred toys in this whole shop. The hair, the clothes, the painting? That alone could take _weeks_ just to get the design down to a solid. It took me a whole two months to decide what Goselyn's _eye_ color was going to be. And don't even get me started on the stress that sewing takes.

"It took me three months to even get started on an idea," I comment more to myself.

"Aw, so you too are a designer?" The owner asks, and I suddenly bristle at my own self-exposure.

I look at him, not responding, already feeling the pool of defensiveness creeping up, my shoulders hitching like a metaphorical suit of armor. He seems to catch onto this, his smile only growing, oddly.

"Oh, it's nothing to be ashamed of, son," he responds, "It's wonderful to know there are people out there who chose to embrace the remnants of their childhood."

I glare at him, trying to find any shred of lying. He's old, he has to be lying. Guys his age don't condone other guys making girly dolls; they're all those conservatives farts who . But there's nothing but sincerity in those milky blue eyes. I look away bashfully, fiddling with the booted foot of a doll that looks like it's from _Little House on the Prairie._

"It's...it's been a while since I've created any of my own," I explain, "I've mostly stuck to collecting in recent years, even though I...haven't really kept up on it."

He smiles, and leaning against the shelf as a look of impressiveness dawns on him. He exclaims, "Oh, really! What is your target item- china dolls? Vintage? The 'newer' editions?"

I shrug, "Don't really have a preference. If it looks appealing enough, I buy it. So everything's pretty much kind of a random jumble of things."

"Aw, the more the merrier, then," he comments, "And the ones you've created yourself?"

"It kinda depends on the occasion...I guess you could say I favor the Victorian fashion most of all. But I've done some random stuff here and there- my little sister loves the circus, so when she turned five I made her a clown one."

It feels oddly natural, talking to this guy. I really haven't had a conversation like this with anyone else other than Dad. The old man nods in understanding, asking, "What's your name, son?"

I hesitate, "I...I-I'm Gaelin."

He holds out his hand, "It's very nice to meet you, Gaelin. I'm Gabriel, Gabriel Hartwicke. If it wasn't obvious, my wife and I are the owners of this store. And we both hope you enjoy yourself here."

That actually earns a smile from me, and I reciprocate the handshake. I put my hands in my pocket as he turns, making his way to the counter where an old fashioned cash register sits. I start to follow him, trailing after.

"So you're serious?" I ask as he goes behind the counter, "All of these toys is the only ones of their kind?"

Gabriel looks up at him, still smiling as he nods. "Oh yes. Every one unique to its own, no two are alike. Too many toy producers are focused only on the petty things like money, what's popular- it's like nobody wants something that's meant just for them anymore. I feel it's my duty to hang onto that creativity, to make sure only the best effort and hardest work is put into crafting my toys, so that when someone buys them, they can hopefully truly connect with that doll.

Like you said, one special doll meant for one special person."

"That's...a pretty cool idea, actually," I just say. A light chuckle comes from him.

"I'm glad you think so, it's nice to hear in my old age that I can still manage to be 'cool'," he responds, both of us sharing a light laugh.

" _Gabriel, is someone there_?" a high female voice calls from the back.

"In here dear, just entertaining a guest," Gabriel calls back.

I see a silhouette move somewhere near what looks like a storage area, before a woman looking around his age comes out. Her hair is a silvery grey color, parted right down the middle into a low hanging ponytail. She's really short, the top of her head only coming to a little ways above Gabriel's elbow. She wears a simple frock with a purple cardigan, what looks to be an unfinished doll- slightly terrifying with no head and missing limbs- her eyes a bright blue as they look at me.

"Gaelin, I'd like you to meet my wife, Hilary," Gabriel explains as he puts one hand on her shoulder before gesturing to me, "She's a helping hand in all my work. Hilary, this is Gaelin."

"So nice to meet you!" she exclaims as she holds out her own hand, "And such a lovely name!"

"Thank you," I respond.

"Gaelin was just telling me how he is a young toy maker and collector himself!" Gabriel proclaims proudly, like that of a parent bragging about their kid winning a national championship.

Hilary's eyes sparkle as she glances up at me. "How delightful!"

I rub the back of my head. "It's not all that great. To be honest, I've been rather neglectful to do anything with it as of late. I've only just added to it a few months ago."

"Oh, nonsense," she waves off, before her smile quickly turns into a frown. Her frows burrow as she seems to notice something originally brushed off. "Goodness, dear, what happened to your cheek?"

I frown in confusion, bringing my left hand to it. I feel a slight sting as my fingertips brush against it, and pull them back to see some very small droplets of blood. A scratch from Sadie's nails probably, or from one of her rings or bracelets catching on the skin.

Thinking back to the fight makes a small pit form in my stomach, so I try to brush it away. I don't want to think about that now. Not about school, not about the inevitable. None of that.

"I-it's nothing," I say, shoving my hand back in my pocket, looking around to try and change the subject as quickly as possible, "Bumped into something.

Uh, some of these toys look really old," I point out, "Should they really be...marketed as playable?"

"You don't think adults should play with them?" Gabriel asks.

I shake my head, pointing to some, "It's not that, it's just you said it yourself that some of the dolls are fragile. But you let customers play with them. But if they're breakable, shouldn't they just, you know, be intended as just collectibles? Or decorations?"

Gabriel nods in agreement, though his lip juts out like he's pondering his thoughts. "That is true," he states, "But the way I see it, what if someone comes in and they find a toy that comforts them, even brings them back to old times?"

He looks over at one of the shelves, reaching up to grab one of the dolls on it.

"Take this beautiful piece, Cecily," he says as he takes it off the shelf.

It's a gorgeous doll modeled to be a black girl, with tight black curls and amber brown eyes, her attire that of a deep burgundy gown with gold ribbons tying up the bodice, knitted stockings that disappear into red glittery shoes, push-in rhinestone earrings pressed into her ears.

"On the outside, she just seems like an ordinary décor piece, something to compliment your wardrobe," Gabriel narrates, "But say a woman comes into the store. She works long hours at her job, she lives paycheck to paycheck, and she barely has anytime to talk with friends or family anymore. She's stressed out, tired, and overworked.

"But then she sees Cecily," he says, "And all of a sudden, the woman gets a warm feeling in her chest. She remembers having a doll just like her as a child, remembers all the adventures and play times and fun they used to have. Suddenly, the woman feels a happiness she has not felt in a while come back to her, makes her remember the joy and the innocent wonder she held as a child. And it only grows as she holds Cecily, and even though others may find it obscene, the woman begins to play with her like she did her other doll when she was a kid. And for just a moment, her day is a little bit better, and for a moment, even just a moment, the world seems a bit at ease around her."

He hands her to me. "Now, when we consider that, does it really sound fair to keep her held up on a shelf, gathering dust just for show?"

I hold her in my hands, glancing over the detail in her features, the patterns in her dress.

"I...guess that makes sense. When you say it like that," I admit.

He shoots me a smile, sharing a look with Hilary before taking her hand in his. He explains, "Well, Hilary and I have always felt that toys are the heart and soul of childhood. They represent the good will and never-ending love children have that too many lose sight of when they enter adulthood and let bitterness overcome them. But, if they are just willing to surrender to that nostalgia once in a while, let themselves embrace the comfort that toys provide, then that bitterness will turn back into the love they thought long since abandoned them. And as long as children play with toys, then there is still hope."

I nod in response, "My dad used to say something like that. He said he loved the aura of innocence toys carried with them and the life-likeness that came with them. He actually was the one that got me started on the whole thing."

A smile comes to me when the memories come, "We used to go to the thrift store every other Saturday to scope out anything new. We used to have this little game whenever we'd go to auctions or garage sales, that whoever could find the best dolls for the best price got to decide where we'd go next."

Their eyes brighten at this last part.

"He sounds wonderful," Hilary remarks, "Does he make any himself?"

My eyes slide to the floor as I feel the familiar blanket of sadness settle on my shoulders. I swallow hard, "N-not anymore. He...he passed away in a car crash last year."

It feels so weird, sounds so foreign to be saying those words out loud; I can't recall the last time I have, if ever. Though, I do note how I make a point to say 'crash'.

I refuse to call it an accident.

An accident makes it sound like there was no stopping it, that no one was at fault. Bullshit, that bimbo and her dumb friends knew perfectly well what they were getting into.

 _Stop that, you're only going to get yourself riled up_ , a voice says as I clench my fist.

"Oh, I'm so sorry to hear that," Gabriel responds, and I feel a hand on my shoulder in comfort, "He sounds like an amazing man."

"He was the best," I say in a whisper.

A pale, wrinkled hand settles over my grip on the Cecily doll, and I look up to see Hilary looking at me with sympathy, those startling blue eyes warm and pitying.

"I'm sure he would say the same thing about you, Gaelin," she reassures, her bony grip squeezing lightly. I give her a half-smile.

"Thank you."

I feel another squeeze on my shoulder, and look around to see Gabriel coming up behind me, his mouth set in a thin line, something unreadable in his eyes. He pats me on the spot.

"Yes, and that's exactly why I love making toys, for such tough times," he says, "Toys are forever loyal to their owners. Toys don't betray you, they don't judge you, they don't leave you. They will always be there to provide you with the love that you gave to them. So when things do get down, and the world seems to be against you, you will still have some light in the darkness."

I get a little startled when he suddenly holds up a teddy bear, It's champagne colored, a little pale blue bow at the base of its throat. Gabriel holds it up to his face and uses one of his hands to wave its tiny paw.

"You just have to play with your toys," he adds on.

That does get a smile out of me, and he hands the bear to me. It's nice and soft, glassy black eyes staring at me.

"Is there anything else we could help you find, Gaelin? Dresses? Hair? A model for yourself?" Hilary asks.

I hand the bear to her. "That's awfully kind, but I better get going. I have...something I need to go over with my mom today."

"Oh, of course," she responds as she holds the bear close to her chest.

I adjust the straps of my backpack and head for the door. I put my hand on the handle as I look back at the two of them. "Thank you for your kind words. It was really nice talking to you."

"And you as well, Gaelin!" Gabriel exclaims, "And remember...don't ever hesitate to drop in."

There's something in his tone, something not quite right, like a hidden message is somewhere in there. I don't have time to think it over, though. I nod in a goodbye, before stepping out, the brightness of the pavement searing my eyes.

I hold my hand over my forehead, trying to shield them as I head down the street to the nearest stoplight.

Surprisingly, though, I do notice I feel a lot lighter as I make my way back home.

Like a weight's been lifted off my chest. At this rate, nothing can dampen my mood.

* * *

"Where the hell have you been?"

I close the front door behind me, realizing that I've spoken way too soon. In my blissful relaxation at the toy store, I seem to have completely forgotten what has all transpired today. Mom

I'm immediately reminded about it all, though, the second Paul's furious face appears in the kitchen way. His brows are tightly knitted together, his jaw and eyes hard, like the former's going to dislocate himself. He's _pissed_.

"Paul," I hear Mom's voice call from the kitchen in that tone she uses when she's trying to play mediator. Paul doesn't answer, marching right up to me like we're going to duke it out, getting right in my face. His nostrils are big and wide like an angry bull's- add the cartoon steam and it would be perfect.

"Where in the _hell_ have you been?" he repeats, "Do you have any idea how worried we've been?!"

Mom appears behind him, and to my dismay, I realize she seems to have been crying. Her eyes are all red and she's gripping a tissue like it's some kind of lifeline. She looks over my figure- whatever she's trying to find, I don't know- before she rushes forward and hugs me. It's quick, though, and her cold hands reach up to grab my cheeks, forcing me to look her in the eye.

"Don't _ever_ scare me like that again," she warns.

"I...I didn't mean to," is all I can find myself to say.

"You 'didn't mean to?' Not _once_ did it occur to you to answer your phone, or respond to our texts? We were about ready to call the police to have them look for you!" Paul snaps, his cheeks cherry red.

I bristle, "I had my phone turned off. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you worry."

"Oh, buddy, it's too late for that!" he barks, "After all that's happened today, you not answering is the _least_ of your problems!"

Mom looks at him, "Paul, don't-"

"No," he cuts in, "No, we're nipping this in the bud right now. This has gone on for too long, TOO LONG, Maxine."

He looks at me, those brown eyes almost black. "Your school called us today. For God's sake, Gael', you got into a fight?!And with a _girl,_ no less! AND to make it worse, you ran! Do you have any idea how much you're facing in terms of punishment right now?!"

Something sparks in me, and I frown, gritting my teeth. My hold on my strap tightens. "Sadie hit me first, she started the whole thing. What was I supposed to do, let her beat the shit out of me?"

"Almost breaking her nose doesn't help things, Gaelin!" he shouts, "I've told you before, and I know damn well your father did too time and time again, violence isn't going to solve anything! Especially when you run, then you just make yourself look more guilty!"

The mention of Dad makes my wrists clenched in unbridled fury- how dare he? How DARE he?!- and I match his glare with one of my own.

I say in a low voice, trying not to scream, "It wasn't a fight. She attacked _me,_ I defended myself. That's IT."

Paul looks at me like I've grown another head. "No, Gaelin, that's not it! Your principal told us about everything that's gone on this year- you're failing your classes, you've done zero college applications, and now this? Gaelin, he says if you don't shape up, he's going to hold you back!"

"Honey, we're worried about you," Mom says, "This...this isn't you. And with everything's that happened- the bullying, the attack, today- we...this behavior, this isolation you've done, i-it isn't healthy; we just want to make sure you don't anything extreme and end up hurting yourself."

I don't like this tone in her voice- this subliminal message that she doesn't want to say outright; I can tell by the way her eyes slide, how they don't meet mine. I stiffen, feeling like the whole world is closing in on me. Reluctantly, I ask, "W...What are you saying?"

Her and Paul share a look and Mom looks at me with an expression that I know means there's nothing good to be found in whatever she says next. She sighs, "Paul and I have talked about it and we think it's best you start going to therapy again, talk to someone about everything."

This isn't happening, I can't be here right now. My pulse starts racing. I shake my head.

"No. I won't go."

"You don't have much a choice," Paul responds, "We've done it your way, left you alone to decide for yourself, but it's clear that hasn't helped you in the slightest...and honestly, your mother and I both feel it might be best if you spend some time away from the dolls."

It takes me a moment to respond, "S...some time away?"

"We...we think it would be healthier for you if...if the dolls went back in storage. Or, if we gave some of them away."

Before, I could always ignore Paul's comments and walk away. He is a good guy, and he has done a lot for us- him and Dad were kind of friends and friends, and he was always there to help us after the whole thing happened- helping Mom with funeral costs, giving her the numbers to grief counselors, making sure that we had enough money for groceries. We have our differences, but him and I know we can't change each other's views; we'd just have to agree to disagree, and up until now that has always worked.

The minute he mentions the dolls, though- the second he even brings up the possibility of locking Dad's dolls away- all of that goes up in smoke.

"You can't do that!" I shout.

Mom puts her hand on my arm. "'Lin, calm down-"

"This is exactly what I'm talking about, Max," Paul says to her, before looking back to me, "You _need_ to find other ways to cope, Gaelin; what are you going to do, hoard yourself in with your dolls until they replace real people in your life until you're fifty?"

"Paul!"

Something erupts in me, and before I can even think about what I'm saying, I spitting venom right back.

"You don't know a goddamn thing about what I do," I hiss, "All you ever want to do is judge me. Why the fuck can't just leave me ALONE for once?!"

Mom whips around, "Gaelin!"

Paul looks surprised before the fire returns to his eyes. "I'm not judging you, but for Christ's sake, you're going to be eighteen in two months! You can't keep playing with toys forever! When the hell are you going to grow up?!"

"They're not just toys! I started this with my father, we bonded over this, up until the day he died! You just give up something like that! I don't pester you when you go over your stupid baseball cards, or your millions of plastic trophies! So why can't you do the same to me?! You fucking my mom doesn't mean you can control my life, Paul!"

"Oh, do I wish that were true, because if it were up tO ME I WOULD'VE THROWN THOSE THINGS IN THE TRASH WHERE THEY BELONG!"

"OF COURSE YOU WOULD, BECAUSE AN OLD FUCKER LIKE YOU CAN'T STAND TO SEE ME DOING SOMETHING THAT ISN'T YOUR PERFECT LITTLE HOTSTHOT QUARTERBACK VISION OF A BOY!"

"IT'S CALLED TRYING TO GET YOU TO MAN UP ONCE IN A WHILE, YOU UNGRATEFUL BRAT! MAYBE IF YOU STOOD UP FOR YOURSELF YOU WOULDN'T BE DEALING WITH THESE BULLIES!"

"IS THAT WHAT YOU CALL IT? BECAUSE TO ME IT'S CALLED BEING A SELFISH OLD PRICK WHO THINKS HE CAN JUST WALK IN AND EXPECT ME TO ACT LIKE HE'S MY FATHER!"

"IF I WAS REALLY TRYING TO ACT LIKE YOUR FATHER, I WOULD'VE TAKEN A BELT TO YOUR ASS UNTIL THE SKIN PEELED, YOU LITTLE SHIT!"

"I'D LIKE TO SEE YOU TRY, COCKSUCKER!"

"DISRESPECTFUL BASTARD!"

"FUCK YOU!"

Formalities have long since been abandoned, and we've delved into a full on screaming match. We're face to face, snarling in each other's face like a pack of wild dogs. Paul's face is as red as a tomato, the vein on his neck bulging like he's going to burst a vessel or two any minute. My head feels all fuzzy, and I can only guess that I look the same, saliva wetting the edges of my mouth.

I need to be led away right now, before _I_ throw the first punch this time.

" **BOYS**!" Mom screams, shoving her way between us, stretching her arms out to put as much distance between me and him as possible. She looks at both of us in disbelief.

"What the hell is wrong with you the both of you?! You two are family, you shouldn't be talking to each other like this! You should be the ones defending each other, of all things!" she exclaims.

Paul and I say nothing, the two of us panting. My hand throbs, my nails having dug into my palm again. There's a tightening pain in the back of my head, all this screeching having reduced the flow of oxygen.

Mom turns to me. There's an uncharacteristic sternness to her, one I haven't seen on her face for a very, very long time.

"Gaelin, go to your room," she orders.

I look at her, a bit in disbelief. I don't like the emotion in her voice- it's anger. I haven't made Mom angry since I was in middle school. To see her this way, she might as well had just dumped paint on herself.

"Mom, he-"

"Do NOT argue with me," she snaps, her tone demanding only the highest order of respect. She points at the stairs, "We'll talk about this when you both have let the air out of your heads, now GO."

"Mom, I-"

" _Go_."

I stare at her, her angry, ashamed glare in those electric blue eyes almost unrecognizable to me. She's not budging. I look to Paul. His expression is stony.

Why am I always the one getting punished, the one getting the raw end of the deal? I've never hurt anyone, I've never said anything intentionally hurtful. I try to be a good person. So why in the fuck is it always blowing up in my face? Why is everyone- the principal, Paul, Mr. Frost, and now Mom- always leaving me in the dirt?

The bit of shame I feel at making Mom upset is quickly eaten away by a snake of annoyance and anger.

Without another word, I huff and stomp up the stairs, flinging my door open and slamming it shut when I get to my room.

I feel like a dam about to burst when I get inside. I toss my bag to the floor and make my way to the bed- the way Blade and Torch's heads follow me doesn't go unnoticed- quickly shooing Leech and Jester off my pillow before I grab it and push it to my face, digging my hands into it.

I scream, the high volume muffled by the thick material. I continue to scream into it for several seconds, biting down until my jaw hurts and swearing at no one and naming off every colorful curse I know. I sink down onto the bed, pressing it to my face for a few more seconds, before I rip it away, throwing it back on the corner. I press my hands to my face, a low growl of frustration escaping me as I sink down to the floor, glowering at the wall.

A tiny hand rests on my shoulder, and to none of the puppets in particular, it spills from my mouth.

"Is it too much to ask that I just get left alone for once?" I vent, "It's like I need to deal with everyone else's shit daily, but do I ever get a helping hand when _I_ need something? Nooo, I just got to be everyone's lightning rod when it's so fucking convenient for them."

The hand on my head gently squeezes, like it's supposed to reassure me. I look up to see Leech Woman sitting on the edge of the bed, her head tilted as those black eyes. Just like that, I deflate, and look back to the wall, reaching up and grasping her tiny hand in mine, gently rubbing it between my fingers.

A spinning sound makes me look to see Jester standing near me, his sad face on. I give a half smile and grab him, cradling him to my chest. He puts a gentle hand near my heart, a silent gesture of comfort. I sight. I feel a tired. I swallow the lump in my throat as I feel a single tear run down my cheek. Pinhead comes up and gently rubs my arm, a gruff little 'hmph' coming from him as he nods. Maybe trying to tell me it'll be okay?

It's not that much, but it does serve its purpose. I let go of Leech's hand to put mine on his back. "Thanks, buddy."

He nods again. Blade taps me on the knee, pointing with his knife hand to himself before gesturing with his hook to the door. It takes me a couple of seconds to understand what he's trying to communicate, but when I do, put my hand on his head.

"Oh, no. It's not you. It's never any of you guys."

How is these puppets- tiny, mute, with little to no way to express themselves- can be so much reassuring than actual people?

I suddenly get a flashback to Gabriel's words.

" _Toys are forever loyal to their owners. Toys don't betray you, they don't judge you, they don't leave you. They will always be there to provide you with the love that you gave to them."_

I look back at the puppets.

Something stirs in me, and I look back at the sketches on my desk. The ones of works in progress that are halfway inked, some with splotches of possible color schemes in the corners, others that are crinkled with signs of abandonment.

I think back to the doll in the window of the store, the one that spawned me to go in.

Maybe...

I look down at Jester. He stares back. I stand up, placing him down between Tunneler and Six Shooter. I walk over, looking over the sketches.

I pick up the pile, opening a drawer and fiddling through it until I find the tin container of watercolor pencils. I put it on top of the pile, turning back to the puppets. They stare at me, heads tilted and mouths open with curiosity. I make my way back over to my spot, plopping down and setting the tin on the carpet, before I flip through the sketches, coming across one that I liked in particular- a girl with a bonnet who's head is inked, the rest of her body still concealed in a rough sketch.

"I...I say it's about time we added another member to the family," I proclaim to the puppet, looking at each of them, "What do you guys say?"

They all look at each other, before looking at the shelves where all the other dolls lie. Then back at each other.

They all simultaneously look at me, hisses escaping them as they nod in approval.

I smile, reaching into the tin and pulling out my ink pen. I pull the top off, setting the sketch on my knees as a surface.

"Then let's get started, then."

* * *

 _A/N: Gabriel and Hilary are actually from another Charles Band film. Can you figure out which one?!_


	31. Punishment

**Chapter XXX: Punishment**

So, suffice to say, I'm grounded. If there was any doubt of that from the fight alone, my swearing match with Paul pretty much did me in. I'm now restricted to just work- and event then Mom has to be in a good mood those nights- the house, and school.

"That is, if you're not completely out," Paul shoots out as he slides into his seat, reaching to grab his seatbelt.

I grit my teeth, shooting him a glare from the side as I cross my arms, slouching. Today we're going in to talk to Mr. Rog to determine if I'm going to be able to come back to school at all after my little stunt. Since Paul has to go work some time after, I have to accompany him in his Volkswagen as he drives us.

The anxiety of riding in a car does little to calm my already frayed nerves- though our heads have since cooled off, we're not exactly on what you would call speaking terms, our responses curt and short; we haven't looked each other in the eye once since yesterday. It's been constant walking on eggshells- if it wasn't obvious enough, I'm not exactly thrilled to have to be in a small space with him all alone.

We don't say a word to each other as Paul drives to school. I just keep my head against the window, watching the houses pass by. The snow has since completely melted and the flowers are starting to bloom, but the sunny weather's a complete opposite to how I'm feeling. I just want to hop out and run away, never look back.

There's still a half hour before the bell, so the students present are few and far between. Still, it might as well be a whole stadium given how everyone who's standing around stares at me, probably surprised I'm still showing my face after all that's happened. I hear Paul grunt beside me as I keep my head down, "Damn vultures. Never can just mind their own business."

 _You have NO idea,_ I think in my head.

"Aw, yes, Mr. Killough, Mr. Saint Claire. Please come in," Mr. Rog ushers us in as he opens the door to his office. I step in, looking around.

Sadie and her mom are already there, sitting in the chairs to the left. She glares up at me; her nose doesn't look broken, but I do notice a small bruise near her eye. Her cheeks are bright red in anger, and she sits with her arms crossed, slouching in her seat, one foot bouncing on the opposite knee in impatience. She makes a point to inch away when I'm forced to sit beside her.

Right back at you. Bitch.

Her mom stares straight ahead, arms crossed too. She looks like a businesswoman, with a pristine white jacket and matching skirt; her blonde hair is in one of the short cuts that reminds me of those soccer moms the restaurant sometimes get that always want to speak to the manager, and I notice a purse dangling off her arms.

Mr. Rog goes around Paul to sit as his desk, moving closer in his seat before folding his hands as he regards all of us.

"Well, ladies, gentlemen, I'm glad you all could make it, since this is a very pressing matter at hand here," he explains, looking back and forth between me and Sadie.

"As you know, I've called you here due to an...incident that happened between Gaelin and Sadie yesterday," he frowns, "From what I have been told, the two of them engaged into a verbal altercation during their World Discussions class- one in which some serious accusations were thrown- before it escalated into a physical fight. Afterward, Gaelin made the _unwise_ choice to run from school property, so I had to rely on the students who witnessed the event to get the whole story."

His gaze slides to me at the last part, and I look away, trying to ignore the feel of Paul's eyes on me too. I look at the clock. 7:09. Can't this just be done already?

"What 'whole story?' My daughter isn't a liar, she told you everything that happened," Sadie's mom argues, putting a hand on her shoulder.

I roll my eyes; of course, she's one of _those_ moms. Always believes her 'precious' little cretin of a daughter; she could kill a man and hang his head from the ceiling and she'd still find someway to pin the blame on someone else.

"I didn't say she was, Mrs. Lancaster," Mr. Rog counters, "It is just part of school policy when an event like this happens; every detail counts for us when it comes to deciding how to proceed with the best course of action."

Paul asks, "So what's going to happen? I'm going to assume this isn't just a slap on the wrist."

"You're correct," Mr. Rog replies, before looking back and forth between me and Sadie, "The Mulligan School District has zero tolerance when it comes to violence, and this is no exception. By the handbook, I _should_ have both of you expelled."

Paul makes a noise of dismay in his throat, and I see out of the corner of my eye Sadie bolt up in her seat, leaning forward, already ready to argue back. Mr. Rog holds his hand up before any word can escape her, and sighs.

"However," he elaborates, "I don't want to do that. Graduation is only a few months away, and I'd hate to see you both have to start all over again over a one time thing. But don't think I'm taking this fight lightly. So, as a compromise, I'm suspending you for two weeks.

"But," he adds, "When you do come back to school, the two of you are both going to have an additional week of in-school suspension. Kept separate, of course, but keep aware that this isn't going to be let go just yet."

"Another week?" Mrs. Lancaster questions in disbelief, "For what? I would think being kept from her work and friends for two weeks is enough punishment!"

"Normally, it would be," Mr. Rog says, "But you see, Mrs. Lancaster, several students have come forward and admitted that before the fight- the verbal exchange Sadie had with Mr. Killough was not an isolated incident. In fact, we've received several reports that since last winter, your daughter has appeared to have participated in several instances of verbal abuse and harassment against Mr. Killough- most of these having the joint participation of Kailani Makoa, may she rest peacefully- including one incident that involved the destruction of property of one of Gaelin's belongings."

"That's preposterous!" Mrs. Lancaster snaps, "My daughter would _never_ do something like that!"

"It's true," Paul suddenly speaks up, "In fact, I believe Gaelin still has the pieces, if you want us to show you?"

She snaps her head towards him, brown eyes full of hate. Her lip's all crinkled up in a frown that does nothing good for her features; I keep my head down, bringing a hand to my mouth to hide the smirk on my face.

 _Top that, you old bat_ , I think.

"Well, I hardly see how that matters right now," Mrs. Lancaster refuses to back down, "I mean, it's a miracle nothing was broken with the way her nose was bleeding! Show him the bruise, Sadie!"

Sadie clears some of the hair out of her face, and Paul and I exchange a look of exasperation.

Mr. Rog frowns, "I am deeply sorry for the injuries your daughter endured, ma'am, and while we don't condone Gaelin's decision to fight back, either, we have confirmation from both her classmates and the teacher present that she was the one to instigate the fight and make first contact. That is just frankly unacceptable, and she must deal with the consequences."

He looks over at Paul, "As for Gaelin, his leaving school during active hours without a pass is regarded as an act of truancy. While we understand the gravity of the situation and the...emotional distress it may have, we must taken action."

"Of course," Paul agrees, "He broke the rules, he needs to be punished. It wouldn't be fair to do it one one, but not the other."

I glare at him. Whatever happened to that whole thing about be able to rely on him if someone gave me shit? Did he really mean it, or was that whole act with the cops more for him to boost his ego than to actually stick up for his stepson?

Then again, why do I still expect anything from anyone? Nobody means it.

Mr. Rog nods, clearing his throat again, like he doesn't know what else to say. "Well, um, yes, anyway, those are the punishments laid out. If nobody else has any additional questions I can answer, you all are free to leave."

Mrs. Lancaster huffs, shaking her head. She suddenly stands up, adjusting her purse on her shoulder.

"Well, you can well assured that the superintendent will be hearing about this," she threatens, looking to Mr. Rog before she turns her head to me and Paul, giving us a curt sneer before she looks at Sadie, "Let's go Isadora."

Sadie doesn't say a word, picking her bag off of the floor before she follows her mom out, but not before she shoots me a glare over her shoulder.

Paul just shakes hands with Mr. Rog, thanking him for his time before he grabs at my arm and gestures me to get up. We get in the car, and that's when he lets loose.

"Well, I certainly hope what you did was worth it," he just mutters as he puts the keys in the ignition, not looking at me.

I stare at him, clenching the handle of the door. "She attacked _me,"_ I say. Why is this so hard to understand?

"It's not just that," he says, before he blows out a sigh, "Dammit, Gael', why didn't you tell us they were picking on you?

"I mean, w-were you afraid or something? Scared we wouldn't believe you, o-or that we'd judge you? You should know us better than that, especially your mom. It's not good to keep everything bottled in, Gaelin. Not for your mind _or_ your body. It doesn't solve anything or help anybody. All it does is build and build until one day everything explodes, and when that happens you might end up doing things that you'll almost always regret."

I stiffen. My fists clench.

Does he not think I know that? That I'm doing this all for the hell of it? Of course I know it's not healthy to bottle your shit in. But when you've felt the way I've felt- depressed to the point you can barely get out of bed, or start having suicidal thoughts that you scare yourself- there's no way to get the words out. Like, literally, it's _physically_ impossible to try and let people know how you feel. I was in pain, but so was Mom, and Josie didn't smile for months; I can still remember waking up and hearing Mom cry herself to sleep. How can you go to someone who've been through what we've been through- a woman struggling financially who's just lost her husband- and reveal to her that you feel like doing something that may cost her her son too? You can't. All you can do is try and minimize the casualties when it all gets too much.

I don't say anything, though. I just lean my head against the window, trying to unclench my jaw.

"Can we just go home already?" I mutter, not in the mood for talking.

There's no movement for a couple of seconds- I feel his eyes on him- before I hear the engine start up again.

"Don't expect these weeks to be easy. We've already got a list of chores for you to do, starting today," he informs, buckling his seatbelt.

I don't care. I just want to disappear, get home and see my dolls again.

They wouldn't judge me, they wouldn't yell at me, they wouldn't hurt me.

* * *

Paul wasn't kidding. The minute I step through the door, Mom put a list in my hand of all the things I have to do. They're not pulling any punches- and in one day I've had to mow the lawn, sweep the furniture, do the dishes, mop the floor, clean the bathroom, and wash both the cars. It's not like I don't help out with chores, it's that I've never done this much in one day. Having only the complete use of one hand doesn't help.

That night, I collapse on the bed, exhausted. I'm too tired to even complain about how unfair it all is. The only thing that keeps me from falling into a complete coma is the feel of one of the puppets plopping down beside my elbow.

I smile, lifting my head to find Jester. "Well, hey there, little guy, you and the others been good?"

He nods, cooing.

"Good. Sorry I haven't been around to check in," I say as I sit up on my elbows, hugging my pillow, "They're gonna keep me working like a dog. Which is _bullshit_. I mean, my arm's in a cast, for Christ's sake! And they want me to handle all the tools? Now does that sound like a good idea to you?!"

Jester shakes his head in agreement.

"Exactly!"

Our little vent session is disrupted when I feel someone tug on my pant leg. Blade's hook is tugging from his position on the floor, and I sit up to see him and Six Shooter standing together, the latter holding up some sheets of paper up for me to see.

"What've you got there?" I ask as he hands them to me.

I sift through the papers. On each of them is a row of seven boxes, different shades of colors in different rows sorted onto each of them. "Is this a color scheme?"

They both nod, Six Shooter pointing to my sketchbook. My eyes widen.

"You did this all by yourselves? For me?" They nod, and I smile, "Aw, thanks you two. You guys are the best."

I turn and grab it off the nightstand, setting the pages next to me as I flip open to our newest project.

The drawing has since been fully lined, the details all set in, random notes taking up the empty space on the page of what material would be best to use or what how the body should move. Things like that. It's of a girl- one with a full adult body, a more mature face- dressed in an old Victorian fashioned dress, with ribbons on the bodice and lace on the sleeves, a bonnet on her head; I made her hair straight, but I made a note to experiment and see if she'd be more suited with a wavy texture.

The picture's eyes stare back at me. They're just colorless lines on paper, but I'm already giddy for the day I can see those upfront, the beautiful irises-whatever color they might be- set in her face, already thinking of how the light will reflect off the glass.

That's for later though.

I put the color splotches next to the drawing. Tunneler and Leech Woman come up to either side, looking at it.

"What do you think about this one?" I ask, holding up boxes of greens and tans up to the sketch.

Leech Woman makes a noise in the back of her tiny throat, her head shaking.

"Not really a fan of the greens, it seems?" I respond. She just continues shaking her head, waving her hand like she's already had enough of looking at it. I snort. Silly girl.

"Okay, so that's a no. How about...this?" I ask, holding up a sheet with boxes of pinks and blues, "Looks like a nice scheme. Nice, soft, what do you think?"

Leech seems to loosen up, but I hear a grunt and look to see Tunneler staring at the sheet with a weird glint in his eye. Is he...pouting?

"What's wrong with it?"

He holds out his arms, twisting his waist to gesture around the room. I look up at the shelves.

Oh. There _is_ a lot of pastel colors. He does have a point.

"Okaaaay, so that's out of the question. Well, we have the rest of these."

I hold out the rest of the pages, letting take a glance. After a few seconds, they share a look with each other, before they each point to a sheet with various whites and lavenders colored in the boxes.

"You think that's the one?" I hold it up to the picture, pursing my lips together.

Instantly, my mind starts sorting the colors to where would be best. Quickly, I start to get a visual of the finished product- what color her dress is going to be, what her hair should be like, which color would give the best compliments where. I nod a few times, and it's apparent why they picked this scheme.

I rub my chin, "Hmmm...I think that can work."

I rummage through the container, pulling out the appropriate pencils, before repositioning my book on my lap. "I'm thinking maybe I should get some tracing paper. Do a few rough shadings to figure out where it would best go-"

There's a knocking at my door. _"Gaelin?"_

I flip the sketchbook close, immediately on the defensive. Goddammit, can't I have two minutes of privacy? I shove Leech and Tunneler behind me right as the door opens, Paul peeking his head in.

He gives me a strange look as he glances around the room.

"What?" I ask.

Something like a stink eye comes on his face as he looks left to right. "Who are you talking to?"

Crap. I look around, trying to find an excuse.

"Um, uh, n-no one, I-I-I wasn't talking to anyone," I mutter.

"Gaelin, I could hear you from all the way down the hall," he replies with a bit of snark as he leans against the frame, crossing his arms, "You know we said phone privileges were restricted."

"I wasn't on the phone," I respond, quickly feeling my temper flare, "I was...thinking out loud."

I wait for him to go back out again, but to my irritation, he keeps standing there, giving me the weirdest look. My hands grip my pencils, not wanting to look at him and show my impatience but not wanting to do anything until he's away from me.

"...you treat those puppets differently," he finally says.

That makes me finally look at him. "What?" I asked, confused.

He nods his head to wear Six and Blade are lying stiff against the bed, leaning at an angle to keep themselves upright. "The puppets, you don't...you don't treat them like I've seen you treat the other dolls. You take them off the shelf, you...they're almost always in different places when I come in. On the desk, on the floor, on your bed. I haven't seen you do that with the other ones you've collected."

"Yeah, so?"

He shrugs, "Just saying. Like, you doing photography or something? If I didn't know any better, I'd swear you were actually playing with them."

I frown, resisting the urge to roll my eyes. I am not having this conversation with him right now.

"Aaaaand?"

Paul rubs his neck, "Just an observation. I just didn't think you'd do that, since you're always so careful with them."

I don't respond after that. We look at each other, before Paul awkwardly looks away, nodding at me before he grabs the door handle.

"Don't stay up too late, I'll need you up early tomorrow to take down the Christmas lights."

I just stare.

Paul tries not to look too uncomfortable as he shuts the door. I roll my eyes, shaking my head as the puppets immediately start moving again. Torch, who's been on the dresser, gives me a look, a deadpan kind of expression.

"You and me both, dude," I say as I get back to my drawing.


	32. Jester's Day Out

_Warning: The end scene of this chapter contains sexual abuse of a child. Nothing is in explicit detail, but please read with caution._

* * *

 **Chapter XXXI: Jester's Day Out**

" _The master's been home a lot more than usual_ ," Leech Woman commented as she took Pinhead's hand as he helped her down from the shelf, feet planting in the pillow under her.

" _Do you think it has to do with why he seems so angry lately?"_ Six Shooter asked as he crossed two pairs of his arms, the third resting on his hips, " _That whole thing that happened with the screaming downstairs and that whole thing with the pillow and him saying something about being a lightning rod or something seems to what started this whole thing."_

True to their words, the Master had remained at home the past week, though curiously, he was hardly allowed in his room, spending most of them in various rooms of the house. They had no idea what he was doing, though they did notice he had begun to get a distinct smell of air freshener and disinfectant carrying on his clothes. Today, he had been woken up early by his mother- a doctor's appointment, apparently- and had at about a quarter to seven, leaving them all alone.

" _I heard his parents talking in the other room the other night,_ " Torch reported, " _Apparently he beat up this one girl or something."_

He felt someone looking at him, and turned his head to find Blade living him a glare. " _What?"_

" _Why do you insist on violating the master's orders? Especially when the others' presence are around_ ," the hat wearing puppet scolded, " _What if you had been caught?!"_

Torch waved him off with his flamethrower hand. At times like this he hated having no actual eyes to be able to roll. " _Why do_ you _act like this is anything new? Relax, I made sure they couldn't see me."_

They all shook their heads; typical Torch. Jester, the exception, however, perked his head up, seemingly ignoring the latter part of the conversation.

" _The master? Beating up someone? That's preposterous!"_ he exclaimed, eyes widened in surprise.

It couldn't be! The master would never get violent with someone, least of all a woman! He was gentile, and kind, and generous (and, well, to be honest, he didn't really seem like he was physically capable of doing much either). Or, at least he didn't _seem_ like that type of person.

Torch looked at him, shrugging. " _I'm just repeating what I could hear."_

" _It does seem a little suspicious_ ," Pinhead replied, " _The master did look a little roughed up when he came in. There was a small scratch on his cheek, and noticeable redness on various spots on his head."_

" _Do you think it's related to those boys?"_ Leech Woman asked, " _The ones who...who hurt him?"_

She choked up a little, the memory of her beloved master tumbling into the room, covered in blood and collapsing still shaking her up a little. Tunneler gave her a sympathetic look, rubbing her arm in comfort.

At the mention, the boys' faces suddenly darkened. Blade murmured, though it seemed more to himself than the rest of them. " _They won't be a problem again. And if it still persists, we'll take care of-"_

His threat was suddenly caught off by the sound of the doorknob jiggling. Their heads whipped to it, watching in anticipation as it fumbled, before slowly turning. On cue, as their master had told them many a time, they dropped onto the bed, their limbs stiffened. It may have just have been the Master, but over the years they had learned that you could never be too careful.

The door slowly pushed open, revealing a little girl in a yellow sweater and jeans. Her socked feet tiptoed on the carpet as she slowly walked in, turning her head around, baby blue eyes twinkling with curiosity. Her orange colored curls swayed softly as she turned her head. The puppets, watching as best as they could, regarded her with hesitation. What was she looking for her?

The little girl's eyes landed on the bed. As if she had just uncovered buried treasure, her gaze lit up with excitement, and she trudged over to the puppets. A wide smiled stretched onto her pudgy face, dimples appearing in the indents of her cheeks and near her eyes as she looked each of them over; it became even wider, particularly, when she landed on her gaze on Jester. Reaching over, she picked him up, holding him out in front of her.

"Josie?" a masculine voice called from somewhere else in the house, "Are you ready to go? We have to leave."

The girl looked over her shoulder. "I'm coming, Paulie!" she responded, looking back over at Jester with a smile.

Tucking him under her arm, she turned around, running out of the room. One could hear muffled stomps on the carpet outside the room as she went to the right, before her silhouette passed by, the sound of footsteps gradually getting softer as she went downstairs.

As soon as she was gone, the rest of them shot up, exchanging equally looks of shock.

Jester was taken- and by a child, no less! A million thoughts raced through their minds (scenarios of children- messy, reckless, loud children with jam-covered fingers whose favorite way to play with toys was in their mouths, who pulled on things each other wanted to play with until they came apart at the seams, who stomped their feet and spilled everything and got food everywhere- coming with a wave of dread). Blade, Torch, and Pinhead leaped off the bed, running towards the door.

" _Be careful!"_ Blade hissed as Pinhead stumbled, almost bringing all three of them crashing to the bottom of the stairs.

Right as they got to the bottom step, the front door shut. Cursing, Blade jogged to the window, scrambling up a small shelf beneath the window to move the curtains out of the way. He poked his head through, trying to not make himself too obvious, seeing a car back out of the driveway, before turning away to the left.

" _Merde_ ," he hissed. They'd never catch up in time.

He turned. Pinhead's tiny cranium looked up at him from the edge of the shelf, his good eye filled with concern.

" _Is there anything we can do?"_

Blade closed his mouth, shaking his head reluctantly.

" _Honestly? We can hope he'll come home in one piece."_

* * *

This certainly was...not what Jester thought was going to happen today.

"Hi, Josie!" An unfamiliar voice greeted. It was high pitched and feminine.

"Hi, Porscha!" His abductor- Josie- replied.

"What's that?" Another voice, this one with a slight accent, chimed in.

"It's what I have for show-and-tell."

"Oooh! Could I see?"

He noted with amusement the playful tone in Josie's voice when she answered. "You'll have to wait until show-and-tell, silly!"

There was a sudden influx of sounds, mostly that of giggling children, coming from Jester's left, along with various sounds of things knocking together. It was hard to tell exactly what was going on, as Josie had kept him pressed tightly against her chest from the minute she took him from the Master's room, to now. A lone adult voice of the whole mix spoke up, telling everyone to gather around in the circle.

"Okay, everybody," the teacher announced, "Just like every Thursday, we're going to start off the morning with show-and-tell. Do we have any volunteers?"

Jester felt one of Josie's arms leave him as a small mantra of ' _pick me, pick me!_ ' in whispered tones started up. "Okay, how about...Fotu, you are us off!"

One by one, Jester heard various names be picked, each child going up and talking about some object they had, how they had gotten it from one place or another, why it was so special to them. Was that why she had picked him? To show him off? But he had only seen her once or twice the whole time since Master had awakened them. And it wasn't like he was supposed to move, he couldn't have made that big of an impression on her.

"Great, presentation, Lewis," the teacher said as the latest child stopped talking, "Okay, let's see, who's next...Josie, you're up!"

She hugged him tighter as she stood up. Jester could see the carpet below him as she suddenly turned him around and lifted him up. Finally, he had gotten a look of who he was facing. About two dozen or so small children stared back at him, each wearing various expressions of curiosity. He looked to be in a primary school classroom. All the children sat in a circle on the carpet; up front, to the right, the only adult in the room- presumably the teacher, sat on a stool, her large desk and monitor behind her as she sat with her legs crossed, folded hands resting on her knee.

"This is a clown puppet of my older brother's," Josie narrated behind him, her voice confident, "My older brother likes to collect dollies of all kinds, and this is one of them. I think he's very funny and cool looking. I can't play with him, though, because my brother says they're really frag...frag...fragile! But he takes very good care of them and I want to do the same thing one day like he does!"

As she showed him off, she fumbled with Jester's limbs, showing off his boots, his hat, his outfit. Inwardly, Jester smiled. He would be lying if he said he wasn't flattered she wanted to show him off- he was the entertainer of the puppet group, after all. Hey, he could enjoy a little ego rubbing once in a while.

When she finished, Josie gave a small curtsy, and the other children raised their hands in slight applause.

"Very nice, Josie," the teacher commented.

As she sat back down, she put Jester in her lap, though this time he got to watch the other students present their belongings as well as she put his back to her chest. Some of them were really interesting, while others were, at least from an adult's perspective, rather rubbish; but with the amount of excitement in their eyes, it would be cruel to tell them otherwise. A warm feeling bloomed in Jester's chest.

Aw, children. So young, so pure.

(Inwardly, he prayed that Josie would also listen to the Master's words and be careful.

He'd rather not have to go home with a snapped foot or a broken face, thank you very much).

* * *

"Your brother makes dolls?"

Jester found himself at a small table, surrounded by several other plastic toys and stuffed animals. After show-and-tell, and spending a few hours resting in Josie's backpack (trying to resist the urge to tear the folders in it to pieces when the corners kept poking him in the back), it seemed that recess had transpired. Some time during the morning it had begun to rain, sheets hitting the windows hard, and the teacher had moved the class to some sort of playroom filled with books and toys to entertain them while kept inside. Josie, it seemed, favored to put him in a tea party with her friend.

The girl who had asked the question- what was her name? Paula? Paris?...no, Porscha, that was it- regarded Josie with a look of question, her arms holding a Raggedy Ann doll. She was a small black girl with a wiry frame and thick afro curls twisted into several braids, all of which were held by brightly colored plastic barrettes.

Jester, meanwhile, trying to play the role of classic toy as best as he could (though honestly being still for this long was killing him), stared straight ahead at the fuzzy blue bear that sat across from him, and whom looked like it had seen much better days, its fur raggedy and slightly discolored.

"Yep," Josie answered as she set down a small plastic plate and teacup in front of him, "Well, only a few. He mostly collects them, though I think he fixes them up if they're broken."

Porscha tilted her head. "But...he's a boy? Boys aren't supposed to play with dolls."

"Why not? He does it, my daddy used to do it. And my brother doesn't really play with them, he just collects them. You know, like puts them on shelves and leaves them around his room."

"But what's the point of having all those dollies if he's not going to play with them?"

Jester mentally chuckled at the conversation between the two girls. It was amazing what things children could and couldn't understand. How black and white their concept of gender was. Why, he remembered the days when pink used to be considered a better color for boys, and blue was said to be for girls. (Goodness, he was old. How long ago was _that_ standard? Sixty? Seventy?).

"Oh, look!" Josie suddenly gasped somewhere behind him, "Its that Barbie I've been trying to find! What was she doing all the way down in the chest?"

Something was plopped into the seat next to him, and Jester, as casually as he could, tried to look out of his peripheral.

It was some sort of fashion doll, though probably nothing from recent doll lines; her face and eye shape gave a hint she was probably a few decades old, though nowhere near his antiquity.

To his horror, as Jester looked her over, she also looked like she had been a faithful toy for a dog. Her blonde hair was in patches, making her resemble someone dealing with male patterned hair loss. There was marker all over her face and arms, and the flimsy excuse that may have once an outfit was torn and worn, threads being pulled further as they caught on her fingers.

He gulped. He _prayed_ Josie remembered the Master's warning that he was fragile.

* * *

Jester gently swayed from side to side as Josie pivoted on her waist. She held him low, his golden boots dangling and gently tapping against her pants as the two waited outside the building. The school day had just come to a close, and while it wasn't the worst experience the clown puppet had had, per say, spending the day with a bunch of children, he would be much more comfortable being back with his siblings helping the Master with his newest doll project. Though the nostalgic feeling of being able to entertain young minds had ease the tension of being in a strange place, he still walked the risk of getting damaged; children weren't exactly the tidiest or most careful of people, after all.

He heard Josie let out a sudden gasp at that moment, and had to hold back a yelp of surprise as she suddenly took off running, making him flail in her arms, his limbs kicking this way and that.

"Isaac!"

And before he could even get control of that, he found himself suddenly squished between her and someone else's legs as the little girl engulfed them in a tight hug.

Okay, now he _really_ wanted to go home.

As Josie drew back, Jester took the chance to briefly glance up at the person greeted. He frowned as his eyes revealed a tall man with reddish brown hair and green eyes. Who the hell was this guy? He certainly wasn't the Master, nor the Master's stepfather, for that matter. An extended family member, perhaps?

The unfamiliar man, this 'Isaac' smiled big at Josie as he returned her hug. "Hey, there, kiddo! How was your day?"

"It was good," Josie replied, "But what are you doing here?"

"Didn't they tell you? Your mama and papa are busy today, and Granddad is visiting a few homes, so it's gonna be just you and me for the next few hours!" he said excitedly.

This caused the little girl to squeal, her tone reaching such high volumes that Jester had to suppress a wince. She clasped onto the man's hand as he guided them towards his car. As he helped buckle her in, Josie asked, "So does that mean we can play with your tarot cards?"

"Yep!" Isaac responded, "In fact, I have something extra special planned for us today."

Josie clapped her hands excitedly as he got into his side of the vehicle and started it up. Jester wanted to groan. Please let it be that if it was 'just the two of them' it would be back at the Master's house. He hated leaving the others to worry, and frankly it was getting quite boring to have to slump around not making any movements.

He was disappointed to find that this was not so, as the car stopped and Josie got out in front of an unfamiliar house that was obviously much smaller (and frankly much uglier) than the Master's. Isaac came around the other side and took Josie's hand, leading her into it. This house was also much darker than the Master's, the thick curtains blocking out most of the light; the décor also looked much older, some of it bringing Jester back to memories of how Father's house had looked.

The three went up the stairs, turning to the right to a room that Jester assumed must've been Isaac's; this was also rather dark, the shades were drawn, the lone light source coming from a strange lamp in the shape of a rock. Tapestries hung on the wall, and several polished stones decorated the surface of the bookshelf, desk, and nightstand.

Josie dropped her bag on the floor, before she knelt and gently placed Jester down, leaving him to lean against it as Isaac walked around the room, organizing some papers onto his desk. As he turned back to the child, he leaned against the desk, before a gleam in his eye occurred. Josie looked up at him innocently, her brows furrowing confusion at his silent look.

"What?" she asked, looking down at herself, "Do I have something on my face?"

"Oh no," Isaac suddenly said, all bemusement melting away into a look of worry, "You've got worms."

"Worms? Where?" Josie asked, twisting around to try and look at her back.

"They're right there."

"Where?" her tone started to pick up a noticeable edge of panic.

"Right there," Isaac said, coming closer, "Can't you feel them? Right... _HERE!"_

He lunged at her, picking her up and tickling her. Josie screamed, though it quickly gave way to giggles as she squirmed, trying to escape his grasp. Her feet kicked.

"No, Isaac, no!" she pleaded, her cheeks turning bright red as she laughed.

"Say, uncle!" he grinned as he flipped her upside down, "Say it and I'll let you go!"

"Uncle! Uncle!"

He tickled her ribs a few more times, before he plopped the two of them on the bed. Isaac sat back, leaning on his palms as he watched her on his lap, trying to catch her breath.

"Sorry, kiddo, but I always love seeing that pretty little smile of yours," Isaac said. Josie blushed, looking away.

"In fact, how about we play a little game?"

Josie looked at him curiously, "What kind of game?"

"Oh, it's nothing super hard. It's a nice one actually," he explained, "And the rules are very simple: You point to one place that makes you feel good, and I'll touch that place. I point to one place that makes me feel good, and you touch that place. That way, we both get a little enjoyment. How does that sound?"

"Oooh, I like the sound of that! Can I go first?"

Something seemed off to Jester.

Like, something in his gut telling him there was something wicked abound. Something he wasn't going to like.

"Sure you can," Isaac replied.

Josie looked down at herself, before she pointed to her feet. "When you touch my feet, it makes me laugh!"

"Oh, like _this_?" Isaac slyly asked, before grabbing her feet and running his fingers along her soles, making the strawberry blonde squeal in surprised as she fell onto her back, kicking at him. He let her go.

"Well, when you scratch my head, it makes _me_ feel good," he said, bowing his head.

Josie smiled as she reached up, her small fingers doing their best to run through his thick hair.

"When you rub my belly, it makes me feel good," Josie said, lifting up her sweater to reveal her pudgy chest.

The sudden glint in the man's eye did not go unnoticed by Jester, who started to feel very uncomfortable at this 'game'.

Isaac reached under her sweater, gently stroking her belly, receiving a soft giggle in return. He smiled, dipping one finger in and poking her belly button, making Josie laugh even more. He smiled, the mysterious twinkle in his eye growing; Josie remained unaware of this, still distracted by the ticklish feeling.

"Well, you know where I feel good when you touch it?" he asked.

Josie looked at him, waiting for his answer. Instead of answering, he took her hand, guiding it towards him.

Jester froze as he suddenly brought the young girl's hand towards his groin, spreading her palm over the area.

Josie looked at where he had placed her hand, confused. She glanced up at him. "I..."

"It's okay, Josie, just rub it, it feels really nice," he tried to reassure her.

She hesitated, her eyes suddenly downcast. After a brief pause, she slowly did as he said. Isaac closed his eyes, groaning. She looked up at him with doubt. "Does it really feel good?"

"It feels amazing. And you know what makes it even better?" he said, adjusting himself to unbuckle his belt and pull his zipper down, "When you stick your hand in."

Josie looked unsure; reluctantly, she did as she was told.

"Oh, yeah, just like that. God, that feels nice. You're such a good girl, Josie," Isaac moaned.

She didn't respond.

"You're so pretty, little Josie. So well behaved. You deserve a reward. Here."

"I-I don't think I want t-to...to do that," she suddenly stammered as his hand moved towards her waistband.

"Oh, no, it's okay, Josie, don't be scared. I'm not gonna hurt you. I promise, you'll feel so _good_. Let me show you."

"I..."

"It's okay, sweetie; just think of it like you're getting ready bed, or taking a bath...there you go, good girl. Yeah, spread them apart a little further, just like that... _oh,_ yeah...see, doesn't this feel nice?"

Josie didn't answer; the only thing close to an answer she let out was a little whimper.

"It's all right, just relax...here, give me your hand again. That way we can make _each other_ feel good...yeah, just like you were doing before... _aw_ , good girl. Such a good girl."

Jester clenched his fists, seething with rage from where he sat against the backpack.

The sicko. The disgusting _dégénéré!_ The foul, two-faced, atrocious _putain!_ Who on Earth would do such despicable things to a child?! A child who _trusted_ him, no less! Did the Master know of this? He couldn't have, could he? Not after the way he talked so highly of her; no man who spoke such words would leave a precious loved one in the grubby hands of this creature.

His hand hovered over his knife. Jester had a strong urge to leap from his position and cut the _fils de pute_ to ribbons. Inflict him with the pain that no way added up to his sins.

But the girl was still here. No matter how powerful his want for blood was, Jester still had to consider her. Even if he was doing her a favor, she was still a child; children were unpredictable. If he showed himself and committed to his thoughts, she could maybe thank him.

Or she'd scream. Or give him away. And if that happened, him and the others were _screwed_. The only way he'd keep the secret was to do something to her. And Jester promised to _never_ inflict such violence upon an innocent child.

As much as his heart bled for her, he was powerless to do anything now. All he could do was sit, forced to listen and watch the disgusting things that were done unto her.

But he did make a promise to her.

A promise that he'd come back.

That he'd make sure to bring the others with him.

Because the next time they came to this vile place, 'Isaac' was going to be in for a nasty, well-deserved surprise.


	33. Skeletons

**Chapter XXXIII: Skeletons**

To the puppets' relief, later in the day, Jester had been successfully returned unharmed to the Master's room by His sister without any sign of injury or damage. However, the joy quickly turned to concern at the uncharacteristic flare of anger in the clown puppet's eyes. When asked what had gone down to bother him so much, it didn't take long to understand, as the rest of the group shared in his fury when he revealed to them the atrocity he was forced to bare witness to.

" _That's horrible!"_ Pinhead remarked in shock, " _What kind of man would do such sick things to a small child?!"_

" _I'm telling you, Pinhead, it took all my control; the minute I saw that_ salaud _touch her, I wanted to rip his eyes from their sockets with my bare hands!"_ Jester hissed in response, shaking with anger as he held his hands up in front of him, hooking his fingers for emphasis.

" _What should we do?"_ Leech Woman asked, " _It doesn't sound like the Master is aware of it."_

" _We tell him, of course! No way am I letting no child get hurt on my watch!"_ Six Shooter exclaimed, pointing to himself.

Tunneler shook his head at him, " _But how do you propose we do that? If the Master finds out his sister disobeyed him, there's no guarantee he's going to believe us or her."_

Pinhead commented, " _Not to mention we know nothing of this man who defiled the Master's sister. How do we fix a problem when we don't know where to start?"_

" _We have to do something!"_ Jester clenched his fists, " _I don't care if we get punished, I don't want that little girl to get hurt if we can do something about it!"_

" _Jester, as much as I share with you in your anger, we can't afford to be irrational. One mistake and we'll all be in danger,"_ Blade said.

" _Here's a question: Why the hell do you all care so much? She's just a stupid kid_ ," Torch asked.

They all stared at him, bewildered in disgust.

" _What?"_

" _'Just a stupid kid'?! How can you be so crass?!"_ Jester snapped, advancing on the bullet mouthed puppet, " _Nobody deserves to be treated like that, Torch! Especially an innocent child!"_

" _But she's not your problem,"_ Torch said, " _You can't risk life and limb for every person who has wrong done unto them, Jester. Frankly, you care way too much about them. They don't need your help all the time."_

" _It is my problem when a child is involved! A child who can't defend herself!"_ Jester hissed, " _You may just see every person on the planet as just walking firewood, Torch, but I actually have the decency to maintain_ some _kind of humanity!"_

Torch uncrossed his arms, a chord obviously struck. He started to make his way towards the smaller clown puppet. Blade quickly got between the two of them before things could get ugly.

" _Both of you, knock it off_ ," he scolded, " _Now isn't the time for child's play. We have other things to worry about. Such as the fact we're almost out of serum."_

The puppets were all silent. They shared a glance at the bottle that had been with them. The Master had given them a new dose just a couple of days ago. But due to that, their supply was now dangerously low. A few drops at the most. Next time when they needed it, there probably wouldn't be enough for all of them.

" _What are we going to do? The Master has barely any clue of how it even works. Look at the way he panicked the first time we needed a recharge,"_ Leech Woman commented.

Blade nodded, " _I know. We can't go on like this...which is precisely why I think it's time."_

Their heads shot up, looking at the albino puppet in shock.

Pinhead put a hand on his shoulder. " _Blade, do you really think that's a good idea?"_

" _I know it's risky. But the Master needs our help as much as we need his. If we're to get through, he'll need to learn how to make the serum. There's only so much we can do on our own, but with the expert at his side, the Master should be able to learn quickly."_

Tunneler raised his hand in caution. " _Blade, are you suggesting..."_

" _Yes,"_ he confirmed, " _We need to bring Decapitron back."_

* * *

I swing open the door to my room, feeling like I'm about to collapse any second. It's Friday- almost one half of my grounding and suspension already over. But these last few days, due to that, I've also been worked like a dog. Mom and Paul seem very reluctant to leave me in the house by myself- which just frustrates me, because aside from the fight, I've never done anything to lose their trust- and today, after getting my cast done, my whole day has been spent running errands with Mom. Which, compared to all my chores, isn't really much better, considering it's just hours of either sitting or standing around while we buy groceries, get the oil changed, get Paul's prescription refilled, all that stuff that nobody cares about.

On the other side, having to be in the car that much also drives my anxiety up the wall. Every time Mom makes a turn, or presses on the gas, I'm on edge, constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop, for something to catch us off guard. Not even parking helps, because all that does is make my mind resort to scenarios like a branch breaking off and smashing the roof.

It sounds silly, but considering how everything went down last year, I don't think you can exactly blame me.

I kick my shoes off and unzip my jacket, hurdling it into a corner of something or another before I fall on the bed without even turning the light off. I just want to be dead to the world already, fall into that obscene blackness your mind is like when you're asleep, not dreaming or remembering, just...there. I hug the pillow and lay on my stomach. My eyelids are already heavy, and I can already feel myself drifting off when I hear my phone vibrate on the nightstand.

I turn my head and look at it through my lashes. What now? Can't a man get some rest?

Groaning, I reluctantly reach up anyway, trying to bring it as close to me without ripping the charger out. I glance at the screen.

 _Audrey: Hey_

...Is that it? I stare at it for a few seconds, unsure how to respond.

… _.Hey_

 _Audrey: Sorry for the 1 word, wanted to make sure you could still use your phone_

Reading that makes me smile.

 _Yep. I'm a big boy, they can't make me a prisoner in everything ;)_

 _Audrey: Lol_

 _...how bad did you get it?_

I frown.

 _Grounded. Getting worked til my fingers might fall off._

Plus they're making me look into talking to a shrink again and might even take my dolls away, I want to add, but decide against it. It's not like I don't trust Audrey, but even that is in territory that I think the lesser people know, the better. She's nice, but I don't need to hear "It'll be good for you" or some kind of sucking up or bullshit reasoning right now.

 _Audrey: That sux, totes unfair_

 _Audrey: Sadie was the one being a total cunt, not you_

I snort and reply back, _That's one way to put it_

 _tho I can't really blame her; you should see her MOM_

 _Makes Sadie look like a saint_

 _Audrey: I think that's giving her a little too much cred, but ok_

I chuckle. I watch the three loading dots with some eagerness, feeling entirely too much like some kind of lovestruck child.

 _Audrey: Still, sorry that you have to do that._

 _No worries. I've been through worse._

She doesn't reply for a few seconds, and when I realize what I've just typed, I close my eyes in embarrassment. "Oh god," I moan as I fall on my back. Smooth, Gaelin. Really smooth. How about describing all the gory details to her while you're at it, why don't you?

I hear a few tings a couple minutes later, though, and am caught a little off guard when I read the messages.

 _Audrey:...so if u say no to this, I completely understand_

 _Audrey: but Virgil's having a party tomorrow, and we were really looking forward to u coming_

 _Audrey: but if u dont want to, I get it_

 _...im grounded tho_

 _Audrey: I kno; I mean u could always sneak out, but I totally get it if u dont want to_

Before, I would've flat out refused. Social gatherings were never really my thing, and especially not with people I've only talked to once or twice in my entire life. But Audrey is there, and they actually would like me to come...

It is tempting. _Very_ tempting.

But there's also little room for opportunity. I've never snuck out before, and the whole grounding thing doesn't make things any easier. Mom and Paul already have a tight hold on me because of last week, but if I get caught in this situation, then it's absolute curtains. They'll probably take me out of school. Force me to go to a shrink regularly. Get me medicated.

Or worse, they'll take away my dolls. And if that happens, I can't trust myself to not go off the deep end. That shit isn't worth it.

But I don't say no. I look at my phone for a minute.

 _Audrey: u still there?_

My thumb hovers over the keypad.

... _I'll think about it_

 _I have to go now_

 _Audrey:...ok ttyl, have a good nite_

 _u too_

I turn the screen off and put it back on the edge of my nightstand. Then I pull the covers over me and knock out almost as I turn my head on my pillow.

* * *

"Gaelin, honey? I need you to wake up," Mom's voice calls from somewhere far away.

I make a noise and turn over, pulling the blankets closer to me. Not now. Leave me be in my bliss of unawareness.

"Gaelin, come on, I need you to get up," Mom tries again.

I crack my eyes open the slightest bit. The afternoon light of the sun sears my corneas. A noise comes deep from within my throat and I roll over slightly, squinting at Mom.

"What time is it?" I mumble, trying to bat the sand out of my eyes.

Mom's figure is all blurry, but her eyes stick out like two will-o-wisps in the forest. She leans close, shaking me again as she whispers in my ear. "Honey, I need you to get up."

" _Why?"_

"Gaelin, just do what I say," she hisses, a hint of impatience now in her voice. I blink, staring at her with a bit of confusion. That's when I take note of how she looks away when I try to meet her gaze. That can't be good. That's _never_ a good sign.

But I don't argue. Sluggishly, and with a lot of resistance, I drag my ass out of bed and force my body into a change of clothes. Mom ushers me out of the house, silent as a church mouse as she starts up her car and buckles her seatbelt. I notice it, but wait patiently. I'll play along for now. But I want answers.

"Do you want anything, sweetie?" Mom just asks, looking at me warmly. I'm confused, looking out her window to see a large menu in front of it. I look around, realizing we're in the drive thru of the Dutch Bros Coffee. I blink. When the hell did we get here?

"Um, uh..."

Mom tilts her head, "I was wondering if you wanted anything."

I stare at her for a few seconds, before hesitantly placing my order. Mom gets a white chocolate cappuccino and a giant chocolate muffin, while I just settle for a cherry cream soda. Mom pays and gets our things, before she drives off, still not saying a word. I stare at her. Worry starts to niggle into my gut.

She drives to a vacant parking lot of a shopping center, parking. She still doesn't say anything as she starts to eat. The soda numbs my fingertips, makes my hands tingle with cold to the point it almost hurts. I keep looking at Mom, but she refuses to look my way, calmly sipping from her cappuccino. The radio's been turned off, and its not very busy at this hour, so it's just the two of us and the dead silence.

Finally, I can't take it anymore. I ask, "Mom, what are we doing here?"

"What, can't we just have a little time to ourselves? Just you and me? We haven't done something like this in a long time," she says.

There's something more. I recognize that answer all too well. There's something she's not telling me, so she's trying to dance around it. But I know better.

"Mom, really," I say more firmly.

She finally looks at me, searching for...whatever she's trying to find. I stare right back. Mom looks out her window for a few more seconds, before she finally replies.

" _Mom._ "

"Have you been looking through the list of numbers Paul provided you?"

I frown, "What does that have to do with it?"

"Have you?"

"You're not answering my question."

The worry is now starting to be overshadowed by annoyance. I hate being kept in the dark. I'm not going to give in to these little games. If it's so important that she's felt the need to drag me out of bed in the middle of the afternoon to try and sugar coat it with treats, than I think I deserve a right to know.

There's something unreadable in her eyes. I just look back, trying to make it clear I'm not in the mood. I'm not a little kid, I don't need to be babied.

Mom sighs, looking down at her drink. Her blonde hair shields her face. Her hands are clenched. Finally, without looking at me, she answers, reluctant but clear.

"Aaron McAllister is out of prison."

Whatever I planned on saying, whatever reaction I thought I was going to have, completely dies on my tongue, as something erupts in my stomach, as if I've been sucker punched.

My throat closes up. I get a cold feeling in my chest and it's hard to breathe, like my lungs have been frozen over. My mouth goes dry. Everything goes cold, and its not from the soda in my hand.

The name is one I haven't thought of in a long time.

Every time I do, it brings nothing but darkness. Horrid thoughts enter my mind; terrible, painful, upsetting thoughts that do nothing but bring me agony. Thoughts that are better off to me buried deep down. Out of sight, out of mind. But just like every time I'm reminded, when they come without mercy, like the floodgates have been opened and there's nothing stopping the massive tidal wave from taking over every little corner of my brain. I feel myself disconnect with reality for a moment, the familiar buzz making everything fuzzy, and it's like I've been yanked back in time.

Aaron McAllister.

An upper class college sophomore from the Upper East side, guaranteed to well off from birth; his dad is a neurosurgeon, his mom had a huge settlement from being on some kind of reality TV show or something. He played on his school football team, got a full ride scholarship to some private school or whatever, and anyone could tell you he was guaranteed for success.

Except for one night one year ago, when his school got out for spring break, and him and his buddies and all their girlfriends went out to a party, where they got totally smashed on tequila shots and bowls of weed. After everyone got bored, they heard of another party going on across town, and thought it be best to take Aaron's brand new Rolls Royce out for a joy ride, whilst also being provided swigs of Fireball, courtesy of Aaron's girlfriend Kelly. It was no big deal, they'd done it before.

Only this time, their judgment was just a bit too clouded.

Clouded so much so that they drove right through a road in the wrong direction, completely missing the sign that said 'Wrong Way Do Not Enter'.

Clouded that they either didn't notice or didn't care for the obvious stop sign on the corner.

Clouded that they didn't see the truck at the corner that was just starting to pass through.

The truck that had me and my dad in it.

The truck that suffered the most damage as they hit us full force in a head on collision.

Our car flipped three times.

Then, we got hit by another one- some guy in a Toyota who didn't have his lights on and didn't see what had just transpired.

That time we flipped another four.

I remember that I passed out at one point. I think it was from where my head hit the dashboard. I remember waking up and finding myself upside down. My chest stung from various cuts. My head was pounding. My leg screamed in torment from broken bones. I was wet and sticky and in pain and confused. I remember I looked over to Dad when I heard some kind of noise- some kind of gross, inhuman noise- and tried to see what was wrong.

What I found was Dad convulsing with a piece of metal lodged in his windpipe.

My fists clench at the memory. I try to stay in reality, but my brain doesn't listen. It sends me back to that moment, forcing me to remember every detail. The gurgling, the way he was covered blood- it blended in with the wool of his sweater, drenched his hair and turned it from its ginger tone to a dark fire engine red- how it pooled out all around it. How it squirted out from his throat. The way his eyes rolled back into his head.

How I tried to help. How I tried to reach out, but I was stuck and in too much pain and about ready to pass out. How my body wouldn't let me turn away. How I was forced to watch every second until he stopped moving completely.

" _...lin?_ Gaelin? Sweetheart?"

The feeling of Mom's hand on my cheek snaps me back from the memory, thank God. I look at her. Her brow's crinkled deeply with worry. I stare back. Emptiness has consumed any emotion I had before this whole conversation started.

Dad was already dead by time the paramedics showed up, from what I was told. I was in the hospital for a few months, nursing a concussion, blood loss, a fractured ankle, cracked ribs, and a broken arm, among dozens of lacerations and gashes sustained to my chest from torn and broken metal. Needed pins and stitches and everything.

In the state, drunk driving that results in the death of one or more people is considered Vehicular Homicide. Vehicular Homicide is considered a Class A Felony. A Class A Felony carries the minimum sentence of life in prison.

What did Aaron McAllister get?

One year in the state pen. Just one. And an additional three of probation.

One year that's already up. His parents were rich, they got good lawyers. Probably can even get that charge from touching his permanent record and still let him finish schooling.

His friends barely got a slap on the wrist. Community service, can you believe that shit?

My father lies cold and rotting in the ground, and they get to go on to live like nothing ever happened.

"Gaelin?" Mom asks again, laying her hand on my fist that I didn't even know I had clenched.

I just stare vacantly, contrary to the hurricane brewing in my mind. She searches for any sign of how I feel, but I just look. I know what she's going to say- that we need to talk about this, that we should make an appointment with the old therapist to work through it together, that it's going to be all right- but I don't want to hear it.

I want to forget.

Forget it all.

"...Paul and I have a dinner with his boss tonight," Mom adds in.

I look at her.

"I want you to come with us-"

"No," I immediately snap.

"His wife is a psychologist. If you talk to her, I think she would really help you through this-"

" _No."_

"Gaelin, if you would just-"

"Mom, _please_ ," I finally beg, whipping around, pleading with her with my eyes, "Please don't make me go. I...I just want to go home."

Mom lurches back a little, seemingly surprised by the desperation in my tone. Her gaze softens, and she nods a bit reluctantly.

"I was going to have Mr. Frost look after Josie, but if you're going to home then there's no point," she just says, "I trust you haven't forgotten her night routine?"

I just nod. She nods back, like she doesn't know what else to do. There's something unspoken in her eyes, something she's fearful of. I quickly catch on to it.

"I'm not...I'm not going to do anything, Mom."

"I know, baby, but..." she trails off, "You...you know I'm just looking out for you, right?"

I don't say anything.

"...I want you to look through those numbers Paul gave you while we're gone, too. See which one might look best."

Again, I'm silent.

Realizing that she's probably not getting anywhere, Mom resigns herself and starts up the engine again, and we head back home. We're both quiet. The sun is bright out, a perfect baby blue sky with not a cloud in sight.

It's a total contradiction to how I feel.

On the inside, I'm screaming. I'm yelling, thousands of scenarios of what I'd like to do to Aaron McAllister shooting before my eyes.

Running him over.

Cutting him apart, one by one.

Tying him up and forcing him to watch as I strangle his girlfriend's pretty blonde head.

Let him know how it feels. To be helpless, to be in agony. To watch as someone you love dies scared and in pain and alone.

But it does little to appease me. It won't happen in real life, so matter how dark my fantasies are, all they do is remind me that's never going to happen. Justice wasn't served that day, and it certainly won't be served in the future.

Now, out of all things, I just want to forget.

Distract myself and forget about the cruelty of the world.

But I won't even get that pleasure. I won't be forced to talk to Paul's boss and his wife, but being alone with my thoughts doesn't sound all too pleasing. Not even the puppets can help me with this one. A trickle of fear comes down me. I don't want to be alone. If I have to be alone with my thoughts, the memories of that night and the hell that came with it, I'm going to go insane.

Something pops into my head, and I check my phone, re-reading mine and Audrey's conversation from the night before.

I'm really putting my balls to the wall if I do this. I'm supposed to look after Josie. I love her to death, but I can't trust that she won't snitch. What if something happens to her when I'm gone and I'm not there to help? I'd sooner kill myself before that happens...that is, if Mom doesn't kill me beforehand. I'm grounded. I can't afford to give Mom any more reason as to why I can't be trusted. It's very thin ice and I don't have a line to save me if I make the wrong move.

But with today's news, I find it in myself that I don't really fucking care.

Screw the rules. I really don't have much left to lose anyway.

I pull out my phone, typing out a new message.

 _I'll come. Pick me up at 10, down the street._


	34. As the Clock Strikes Midnight

**Chapter XXXIII: As the Clock Strikes Midnight**

I open Josie's door the tiniest crack, trying to peer in as best as I can without much light to show me the details. The dim orange glow from her nightlight provides some assistance; she's sound asleep, Mr. Jingles pressed tightly to her chest as she lays on her side. I smile. She looks so peaceful. So serene.

I gently close the door again. For a moment, I hesitate going through with my next action. What if something happens to her and I'm not there to help? I would never forgive myself.

But my yearning for distraction wins over that. I don't want to be here for hours on end, alone and unable to escape the cruel teasing of what could've been and the harsh reality of what is. I want to forget. I _need_ to forget. Just for once, I don't want to think.

Taking a deep breath, I trek down the hallway. Josie technically should've already been in bed over an hour ago, but afraid to let my doubts get the best of me, and partially because I just needed some kind of distraction, I let her stay up an extra half hour, playing a game of Clue with her and playing dress up and generally letting her run herself ragged. I even took the liberty or reading four books to her to ensure that she was going to be dead to the world the moment her head hit that pillow. No matter, it passes the time.

I fling open my door, hurrying to gather all my things. I pull on my shoes and grab my wallet off the desk, slipping it and my phone into my pocket. Grabbing my jacket off the back of my desk chair, I fling it over my back as I talk to the puppets, my eyes darting around to make sure I have everything.

"Okay, you guys, I know this is short notice, but I'm going to be going out for a few hours," I say as I pull on the zipper, "I don't know when I'm going to be back, but when I do, I have to be really quiet so I don't blow my cover. So if it sounds like anyone's sneaking in, that's probably me. Okay?"

To my surprise, they only give me small, curt nods. Like they're preoccupied with something and don't really care for what I'm saying. I'm even more surprised to find that they have the one puppet left inactive- the one with the leather jacket and the metal head- now laying on the bed with them, standing all around it as Pinhead lifts it up by the shoulders like they're its bodyguards.

I pause. Why would they...

Nevermind. I'm sure it can wait until later. They know what they're doing, more than me.

"Okay. Behave," is all I think of to say before I rush out the door.

Creeping quietly down the stairs- can't be too careful that any light sleeping seven year old isn't going to wake up- I glide across the hall, slowly pulling the door closed and making sure to lock it. Just then, my phone vibrates at the same time I hear the small chime of an incoming text message.

 _Audrey: Turning on McLaurie right now. You live on Florence ave right?_

 _Yeah. Will meet you halfway_ , I text back. That gives about fifteen minutes before they should show up.

A burst of adrenaline suddenly sparks in my veins, and I leap off the porch, though I restrict myself to fast walking as to not attract any attention from the nosy neighbors (especially that hag Mrs. Dill, I swear that woman never sleeps). The cold air wraps around me like a blanket, my breath forming a mist in front of me as I power walk up the street and turn the corner. I walk a block or two before coming to rest at a mailbox, waiting at the curb.

I rub my arms, chilled from the temperature. My fingertips are already starting to go numb. The sky is pitch black, not a star visible. Except for the light scrape of leaves on the asphalt that move to the breeze, there's an eerie silence all around me.

Which does nothing to distract me from my thoughts, moreso the screaming panic in my head when I think of what exactly I'm doing.

Oh, god. What _am_ I doing?!

I shouldn't be here. I can't leave Josie all alone all night. I'm already grounded. I'll get caught, and then Mom will have my head. I need to go back, call it quits right this second and march my ass right back into that house and go to bed like nothing ever happened. What if something goes wrong and they need to know where I am?! Mom would never let me leave her site! I need to go back, I need to go back, I need to-

A black Chevy turns onto the street, its tires lightly screeching as it flashes its brights at me. I hold my arm up to block out the light. It stops right in front of me. The passenger seat window rolls down, and Audrey's head pops out.

"Get in loser, we're going partying," she jokes. Virgil's sister Desiree waves from the front seat.

And just like that, any hesitation is silenced and buried under a mountain of avidity to finally do my own thing for once. To do something for once without any regards to anybody. I quickly climb into the backseat, all thoughts of fearing Mom's wrath shrugged off.

* * *

" _How is everything looking from up there, Shooter?"_ Blade asked as he leaned out the window, watching the spider-armed cowboy as he grasped the boards of the house; Shooter's black painted hand reached up and grabbed the edge of the roof, and he pulled himself onto the slanted surface, heels digging into the shingles like someone climbing a rock wall. A lasso of wire coil was in his middle pair of arms.

Six Shooter looked down at him. " _It shouldn't be too far of a length. Though the damp spots on here do make me a little worried my ass will be fried,"_ he responded.

Blade nodded, " _Don't worry, my friend. It should not take too long if we get the timing right."_

He pulled himself back into the house and glanced over at where Pinhead and Tunneler were currently preparing Decapitron on his familiar table, which they had luckily been able to dig up in a hidden compartment within the trunk; near the edge of the desk, Jester held up the vial as Leech Woman worked to detangle the long insertion tube that would be placed in Decapitron's neck.

" _Do you really think this is a good idea, Blade_?" he heard Torch asked from behind him.

Blade turned, finding the pyro puppet standing before him, holding a pair of pliers with both arms. " _Why do you ask?"_

Torch's jaw clicked- something Blade had long since come to determine was his way of expressing annoyance. " _Well, only because if this thing doesn't work, we're not only left without any formula, but also with a master who doesn't know how to make more and we can't communicate with him so our asses our seriously on the line."_

" _I know that,"_ the knife handed puppet responded, " _But we need to try. Besides, when have you ever been one for playing it safe, Torch?"_

That earned him a slight chuckle. " _You got me there,"_ Torch replied, hopping onto the bed.

Though, Blade had been thinking that himself. This wasn't room for error with this procedure; Father had always meant Decapitron to be a last resort, his resurrection process requiring enough fluid and even more copious amounts of high voltage shocks. If even the smallest thing was out of place, they were screwed.

" _Hand me that if you're done with it now, Leech,_ " he heard Pinhead say. He turned to see the pink clad girl, finally having managed to straighten out the stubborn tube, walk over to Pinhead with it in her arms. He took one end of it before turning to Decapitron, grabbing a head of the dormant puppet's cranium, before slowly inserting the tube into the whole in his neck, trying to keep his large hand as still as he could so it could fit just right.

Tunneler turned to Blade, " _If there's nothing else we're forgetting, it should be ready to go any second. Shooter just has to give us the word and we'll be on our way."_

Blade nodded, _"Great. I'll let him know."_

Finally. He hadn't let it be known, but he was eagerly awaiting this moment for a long, long time.

Soon, Decapitron would be back with them like he should have been.

 _Father_ would be back with them like he should have been.

* * *

Sadie walked along the road, trying her best to move along as quickly as she could without falling. She cursed when the toe of her boot caught onto a rock, making her stumble; the sudden momentum caused a swishing feeling in her stomach, making her grimace with queasiness. There was an unpleasant burn in her throat at it. She knew she shouldn't have listened to Joel and had that fourth Hennessy shot.

Oh well, what the hell. It's not like she didn't need it; the more she could get wasted and forget her bad mood, the better.

A gush of wind suddenly blew from behind her; Sadie squealed at the sudden feeling of being wrapped in a blizzard, goosebumps breaking out all on every inch of her skin and chilling her to the bone. She groaned as she hugged herself, her thin pink and black zebra striped hoodie doing nothing to shield her.

Why did she turn down Melanie's offer to drive her home?

"Ah!" she exclaimed to herself as she tripped again- in her thoughts, she hadn't noticed the jagged rocks she had stepped on- losing her grip on her phone as she put her hands out in front of her. It flew straight out of her hand, clattering against the rocks before skidding to a stop face down.

 _Please, please, please_ , Sadie thought with dread as she picked it up. "Fuck!" she exclaimed when she turned it over, seeing that the screen was cracked.

Her mom was going to _kill_ her if she saw this.

 _If you're not dead already when she finds out where you've been_ , the little voice her head snapped.

Sadie sneered. True, she had no business being out here at this time of night, having come from a party she had no business attending, getting drunk and high and playing stupid games when she was grounded. Her mom had already been watching her like a hawk since she got suspended, and if that hadn't given her heart palpitations before, this would be sure to make her blow a full blown capillary or two.

"I don't care, she can't tell me what to do," Sadie said to herself, her words slightly slurred, "'m almost eighteen. Besides, if she didn't wan' to me to leave, she shouldn't have left me alone to go on her stoooopid date!"

She shouldn't have even been grounded in the first place! Something shouted in the back of her mind. If the stupid fathead principal hadn't suspended her and brought up the prank, it would have never have happened (plus, she was sure her mom only did it to save face- try to hide the real reason Sadie would be home every day for two weeks).

Stupid Gaelin; _that_ was who was to really blame for her predicament. Him and his stupid face and his stupid name and his stupid hobbies and the stupid way he combed his hair and his stupid family.

Sadie's fist clenched around her phone.

And the stupid way he was _still_ out on the streets, when her best friends were now in the morgue.

How did the police not see it? The guy had guilty written all over him! Who else in their school could've been a big enough psychopath to do the kind of things that were done to Kailani? For Christ's sake, Tony and Holden's car _fucking blew up_! Now you had to be a real schizo to pull something like that off.

 _They should've known by the way he hit me_ , Sadie thought to herself, frowning when a bleary memory about the way her nose had been swollen like an ugly tomato for the next couple of days after the fight flashed by. No matter how much foundation and contouring she did, it still looked bad.

The anger stewing in her gut cooked, her rage growing by the second the more she pondered on the blonde.

It wasn't fair.

Something clicked.

 _Well, why don't you pay him a visit and let him know how you feel_? The little devil on her shoulder whispered, _Finish what you started. An eye for an eye. You get yours, he gets his. For Kailani. For Holden, and for Tony._

Maybe in an early hour or two, Sadie would have at least had enough common sense to see the red tape written all over this thought, and would've just settled for going home with Mel and Viv and drowning her sorrows with her friends in watching reruns of crappy 80's movies and gossiping over text with their other group of mutuals of who did what at school.

In her inebriated state, though, all Sadie's thoughts could circulate to was Gaelin- Gaelin and the fact that the police weren't doing a goddamn thing to lock him away like the bastard deserved to be. Gaelin and the fact that her friends were dead. All because the idiot couldn't take a fucking joke.

 _An eye for an eye_.

Sadie sneered.

If the police weren't going to do anything, then she'd something herself.

She unlocked her phone. She knew where Gaelin lived. She had gone on that block many times when she had to do a group project with Rima. She typed it into her map app.

Ten minutes? A walk in the park. She smiled cruelly.

Looks like little Gaeley was going to get a surprise visit tonight...

* * *

Virgil's party is at this huge crafted cabin- probably a summer house- that's got to be at least thirty minutes away, and that sits deep in the woods, the only trail to it being this dirt road that just randomly starts off from the asphalt one that leads you into town. Tall oaks surround it like a canopy. There's no house to see from miles or any sign of civilization in sight. Just this and the great big, blackness of the unknown that seeps through the trees. Though right now, the darkness has been interrupted by the numerous lights turned on inside, highlighting all the people out on the deck socializing.

"Hello, hello, hello, dear Audrey," Kimberly greets as we go through the front door. She looks me over, "Glad to see you were able to lure our little recluse out of his web tonight."

"Yeah, well, didn't take much," Audrey replies as she looks at me, giving me a playful elbow while a smirk is on her face. I blush, which grows hotter the second she grabs my hand without a second thought, dragging me to the kitchen.

Virgil is entertaining some other goth kids at the kitchen island. He raises his head when we walk him, nodding at us in his same neutral, bored expression. "Yo."

He holds out two clear plastic cups, both of them more or less filled with some kind of golden brown liquid. I take one of them a bit hesitantly, looking at what's inside. I sniff it; yep, definitely beer.

There's a hesitant feeling in my gut. I've had a few sips here and there, but it's been a long time since I've actually dared drink a good portion of alcohol. And definitely never enough to actually get drunk; I have no idea how much I can handle or what kind of effect it will have on me.

 _Who cares? All that matters is that it helps you forget._

Audrey seems to notice my wrinkled expression at the yeasty scent, because she adds, "You don't have to drink if you don't want to, Gaelin."

What the hell, I put my ass on the line this far, I might as well live it up before Mom completely vaporizes me.

"I'm fine," I comment, lifting the cup to my lips and taking a drink, hearing big gulps in my throat as I swallow. The strong wheaty taste makes me tilt my head forward, and I grimace at the aftertaste. There's a slight burn in my throat.

Maybe if I'm lucky, I'll get so drunk that I black out and the revelation of today will find a new home in the graveyard of buried things to deal with, like the rest of my problems.

* * *

The puppets waited with bated breath as the process began. Jester watched as the sparse amount of serum they had- glowing almost an absinthe green in the moonlight- moved throughout the tube, slowly making its way to Decapitron's neck hole. There was a faint buzz in the air, and he could almost feel the thin loose threads in his clothes stand on end from the growing static. It made his heart race in both anticipation and worry for if anything went awry. He hoped the formula was enough- worst case scenario, Decapitron would rise for only a few minutes, or worse, not at all.

He waited on the dresser with Leech. Pinhead and Tunneler stood a little ways off from the table, ready to spring into action if even a hair went out of place. Six was still up on the roof, making sure the wire didn't blow out of place from any wind, while Blade and Torch sat on the bed, watching with as much eagerness as Jester was sure was on his own face.

This was actually happening. It wouldn't be too long now before they could find some guidance again-

The faint sound of an outside slamming came from somewhere downstairs.

They all snapped their heads to the door. Right then, a dark shape came into view in the window; Six Shooter hung by one hand from the roof as he pulled the window open further shoving his head in.

" _We've got trouble. Some random girl's been stalking around the house; I think she's trying to get in."_

" _I think she already_ got _in,"_ Blade added.

There was the sound of something hard hitting the floor downstairs. They froze when they heard heavy footsteps trod throughout the lower levels, a banging against the wall that was followed by a female voice much too high to be the Master's mother confirming their fear. It seemed whoever wanted to come in wasn't trying to be very sneaky. Either that, or they just another bunch of amateurs.

 _If they come up here, it's all straight to hell,_ Jester thought in panic. His fists clenched.

" _What should we do?"_ he heard Leech Woman ask.

" _We are not stopping this process. We have too much at stake here,"_ Blade said, turning to Jester, _"Jest, you and Pin come with me and Torch. We're going to get to the bottom of this right this second."_

" _And what if there is an intruder?"_ Leech Woman asked.

Blade turned to her, a grim look in his hollow eyes.

" _Then it seems we'll have to teach our little 'guest' a lesson."_

* * *

Sadie navigated the garage slowly, the flashlight on her phone providing her the only source of direction in the dark area. She cursed when she felt her ankle bang against what felt like a paint can, but kept her voice down.

Just like she thought, Gaelin's parents kept the side door to their garage unlocked- something she had come to realize, through a history of escaping house parties when either the feds or a host's really pissed parents showed up, or when sneaking off with a cute boy, that many people in this part of town did. She knew it probably had something to do with the fact that crime rate in this county was extremely low and you had better chances of hitting a reindeer than getting robbed in this area- it would be a different story if you were in, say, the trailer park Holden had lived in- but still, who didn't lock their doors?

Oh, well. Their stupidity, their loss.

Plus, it gave her the perfect opportunity to do what she was doing, so it was kinda a win-win either way.

Her phone shed light on a door that she presumed was her ticket inside. Slowly turning the knob to find, to her delight, it was too unlocked, she slowly pushed it open, sticking her head out. She looked around cautiously. It looked like a storage closet, completely bare, save for a vacuum cleaner and a few miscellaneous here and there. There was a door leading out of it straight head,, this one open to show her a bit of what looked like a kitchen and dining room. It was completely dark, from what she could tell. Not a noise to be made or a conversation to overhear. Dead silent.

She walked right through the storage closet, leaving the door open behind her. She forgot about the vacuum for a second, toe catching on the edge, making her trip; one of the attachable heads fell off the side, falling to the floor with a clatter. Sadie cursed but left it alone. No point in fixing it. She opened the closet door a bit more, slipping through the doorway to see what had to be the living room.

Pretty decent, she had to admit. A nice flat screen TV above a fake fireplace, a two couches and a loveseat, some family pictures and other décor scattered here and there.

"How sweet," Sadie murmured to herself sarcastically as she looked at such a picture. It looked to be a few years old, depicting Gaelin and who she presumed must've been his little sister in a field, Gaelin sitting down while the little girl stood up, both of them wearing clothes that suggested early autumn time. The difference in the blonde's gaze, Sadie noted, was completely different from what she was used to. Gaelin's face was much less gaunt, his skin having more color to it, a genuine smile on his face that actually reached his eyes. He looked almost completely unlike the antisocial, malnourished twig that braced their high school for the two years, suggesting much happier times.

Sadie spat on it.

She looked around the darkened room, realizing that maybe this impulsive breaking and entering wasn't the best of ideas. She had no idea where Gaelin would be- was he even home? or if anyone else was in the house. There didn't seem to be any cars in the driveway, from what she could tell. But there was one in the garage- she almost hit her knee on the headlight when she misjudged her distance. Shit, what if his parents were here? If the wrong person heard her before she could do anything, she was absolutely fucked.

 _But if I leave now, I may never get another chance_ , she thought to herself.

Fuck it all to Hell. If she was gonna go down, she was gonna take something of Killough's with her.

Finding the stairs, she slowly made her way up, trying to avoid any steps that may have been creaky.

The top level was nearly pitch black, save for the lone window in the far hallway that provided some faint moonlight through its curtains. The room closest to her was open just a tad.

Sadie tiptoed over, peering inside. She could see a bed, two nightstands on either side, one of which had a lamp on it that was surrounded by a few small picture frames a small box- maybe a jewelry box. The bedframe was large, its corners reaching almost to the ceiling; a big elaborate painting sat on the wall under the headboard. She frowned. That wasn't Gaelin's room. She had been in plenty of adult rooms, whether it was her mom's or some random couple's when she landed a hot guy to make out with at parties, to tell that the frame and painting were definitely not one that belonged to a teenager. Or, at least any kind of teenager that wasn't a complete try hard.

Tiptoeing down the hallway a bit more, Sadie stopped at a door on the left. This one obviously belonged to the little girl in the picture, based on the little fairy doormarker on the handle and the little wooden sign that had "JOSIE" written in pastel painted block letters, little details of butterflies and flowers painted here and there. Definitely not Gaelin's room (oh god, she hoped not- even with Gaelin, there were some things she thought she was better off not losing any sleep over knowing).

Whether or not that girl was inside or not probably wasn't that big of a deal- she was probably long since asleep if she was home- but Sadie thought it still didn't hurt to double check. She did _not_ come all this way just to have everything fall through because some snotty brat had to get up and take a piss.

Ever so slightly, she pressed herself against the door, being careful not to touch anywhere near the handle. Turning her head, she pressed her ear against it, straining to hear any possible sound-

A small shape just out of her peripheral ran through the darkness.

Sadie's head shot to the left, glaring down the hallway. Her heart instantly began thumping in her chest with startled beats.

Did she just...what was...-

Something else ran through the shadows, the slightest glint of something metallic catching the light as it darted through the shadows.

Sadie lifted herself off of the door. Her breath went shaky. She could feel her palms start to dampen.

 _Calm down_ , she told herself, _You're just still a little nervous of going through with this. Your mind is just playing tricks on you. That's it. Just keep moving, get what you came for, and get out. Easy peasy, lemon peas-_

There was the sound of something hitting the hallway table behind her.

A chill ran Sadie's spine.

Her gut told her not to turn around.

Against her better judgment, she did.

She slowly turned her head, before pivoting her body to do the same.

Her silver eyes caught onto a small figure standing right in the middle, facing her.

She barely had time to scream before it leaped at her, its knife glinting in the dim light.

* * *

By a little ways past eleven, I'm trashed.

"Come on, Killough, drink, drink it up!" Kimberly cheers on. She's sitting on her knees on a stool in the middle of the kitchen, holding up a makeshift beer bong; her girlfriend Raquelle is standing on her tip toes, pouring random bottles of beer and other alcohol- isn't that against the whole point of naming it a beer bong?- into the top. A bunch of people have gathered around to watch as I kneel on the floor, the end of the bong in my mouth.

The cocktail hits me fast, and I nearly spit all of it out at the overwhelming amount that's coming too fast into my mouth for me to swallow. I swallow my way through though- although my throat and stomach protest at the harsh, sharp tastes of spirits. Everyone's cheering 'Chug, Chug, Chug!' as I power-drink, their applause getting louder and louder before they all erupt as I down the last bit, wiping my mouth.

I stand up, stumbling a bit. It's actually enough to make my stomach a bit queasy, the familiar taste of the rum and Coke that Virgil's girlfriend Shanise made for us earlier coming back on my tongue Damn, that'd be too bad if I threw up right now. I could've sworn I was doing good by this point.

"Damn, Killough!" Kimberly exclaims as she climbs down the stool, "Down the hatch like that bong was meant for you! Never would have guessed you to be a chugging master."

"There's a lot of things y'all guessed wrong about me, motherfuckers," I comment, my words heavily slurred as I point at them.

To them I might as well have said they lowered the drinking age to fifteen, because everyone's cheering and applauding my words. Was I said really that good? Maybe it was. Guess I've been underestimating myself when it comes to talking to people. I really should get out more.

"Okay, okay, Kim, no need to give him alcohol poisoning," Audrey says as she comes up to me, putting her hand on my shoulder. My skin feels all nice and warm where she touches it...or maybe that's another area. Hard to tell.

"'m fine, Audrey," I say, "In fact, if anything, I haven't g'ten 'nough!"

Audrey chuckles, shaking her head as she grabs my arm and leads me from the kitchen. "Come on, drunkie."

"Someone save a spot for me the next round!" I call over my shoulder, though by now they're already moving on.

Audrey pulls me into the living room, Kimberly following behind us. It's still pretty crowded, though there are a few bare spaces on the couch for her to plop my ass down on. It smells faintly of pot.

"Okay, party boy, let's calm down for a minute," she says, "No need to let everyone see you falling and hitting your face."

"Yeah, Gaelin!" Kim says over her shoulder, "No need to let everyone see you puking on the floor!"

"Speak for yourself, you're just as wasted as me!" I say.

"Nu-uh!"

"Uh-huh!"

" _Both_ of you need to tone it way down," Virgil says as he comes towards us, two water bottles in hands, "Because if you get sick, I ain't gonna like that, and you ain't gonna like it when I'll have to whup y'all asses for it."

He hands Audrey one of the water bottles, and she unscrews the cap before handing it to me. "Take a few sips, Gaelin."

"Aw, Audrey, you're sweet, looking out for me," I say as I take a huge gulp. The ice cold water is a welcoming change to my mouth after back to back tequila shots, cheap beer, and crappy homemade mixed drinks. Audrey just shakes her head.

"You're ridiculous, Gaelin."

"No, I mean it!" I say as I grab her wrist, pulling her closer to me. Her eyes widen slightly. Our faces are close enough that our noses are almost touching. Strangely, I don't feel shy. I don't feel the typical heat come over my cheeks or ears.

Damn, no wonder why they call it liquid courage.

"You've been so nice to me, even when you didn't have to," I spout off, "You're the best friend a guy- No! The best girl someone could ever have!"

Audrey turns bright pink. Virgil's give me the side eye, like he can't believe what he's hearing, and Kimberly just doubles over in laughter. Virgil shakes his head.

"This fool has _lost_ his mind."

"T-t-thank you, Gael', you're...sweet," Audrey replies sheepishly.

"Damn, where was this loudmouth in the halls of Monroe High every morning?" Kimberly giggled as she plopped down in a chair that was pulled out, "It's like a whole different person. Little creepy actually."

"Kim!"

"What? I'm just saying. Like, out of all nights, Gaelin, why now? I never took you for doing, well...anything involving people."

I take another sip of water, shrugging, "Well, when you get the news that the person who drove their car into your old man's Chevy and flipped it and killed him is now walking the streets, you need a little distraction."

I drink some more until the bottle runs out. I look up. They're not laughing.

They're all staring at me, completely silent. Any sign of humor from the three of them has been completely wiped away.

"What?"

Audrey coughs awkwardly, looking away. She starts, "I...I'm sorry to...hear that, Gaelin."

I shrug again, "Ah, what can you do? That's how life is, isn't it? The bad people reach the top and the good people suffer and eat shit. So I thought, fuck it, why not try and let go once in a while. That's all I have going for me, isn't it? It was either or fling myself into traffic."

I mean it as a joke, but it doesn't seem like they find it funny from the way they all continue to gape at me. Audrey's brows furrow. She curtly responds, "Don't say that, Gaelin."

"Why? It's true. I mean, it wouldn't be the first time the choice came up. I mean, just last month I had a thought to slit my wrists, but then I though, man, wouldn't that be messy? I mean, I'd hate to leave a mess for my mom," I explain.

I turn my head. What's their damage? I was just stating a fact. They act like I just said...like I just said...well, like I just said something that wasn't true!

I feel Audrey grab my chin and turn my head back to her. Her hazel eyes- damn, they're beautiful, have they always had that fierce sparkle in them?- are hard, and she looks right at me, refusing to let me break our eye contact.

"Gaelin, I want you to listen to me right now," she says sternly, "Stop saying things like that. You're not going to hurt yourself, and you're not going to 'suffer'."

I'm confused. "I was just joking."

"Well, it wasn't very funny," she snaps, stomping off somewhere. Kimberly looks after her, then gives me a weird look before following. Virgil just shakes his head at me, then turns around and goes outside.

A pang of guilt comes through me. It's quickly replaced by annoyance, though.

What's their problem? Wasn't this what they wanted? For me to loosen up a little and not be a Debbie Downer? But now they want to be all serious? These people, I swear, always sending mixed signals.

Besides, I don't know what their deal is- it's _my_ shitty life to deal with, not theirs.

Against my will, a lump in my throat forms when I think about. Goddamn it, that's why I bothered sneaking out in the first place. To _forget_ all that shit, not bring it back.

A thought pops into my head.

I know the _perfect_ person to help me liven it up, who would help all those grumpy gills turn their frown upside down.

I rip out my phone and scroll through the contacts list.

* * *

Six Shooter watched the cables with bated breath.

It wasn't often that the cowboy puppet became nervous, but when he did, he could feel the anxiety gnaw away at his wooden limbs like a family of hungry beavers.

He had been waiting on the roof, watching the wire and cables that he had attached to the satellite dish like he was supposed to. Everything was fine, save for his brief lamenting of why he had to be the one stuck out here in the wet and the cold, pretty much having to miss Decapitron's resurrection- he knew that he was best suited for reaching high places with the extra limbs and all, but D was his friend too, dammit!- when he saw the girl.

The edge of the roof obscured most of his view, and from this high up he couldn't really see if she were familiar or not, but from the way she squatted, looking around the windows as if trying to find the best way of entry without someone seeing her, it was clear to Six that she wasn't up to any good, whatever reason she was here for.

He tapped his foot. Blade had told him to get back to his spot and that he and the boys would take care of it, but it did little to ease Shooter's impatience. Damn it all, he should be down there with them getting this twat out of their hair- he was never one to turn away from a fight. (Some might've called it sadistic, but could they blame him? That was technically the whole reason he was created in the first place).

It was quiet...more quiet...was that supposed to be good or bad? They better not be doing anything stupid. If he had to save their asses-

Six Shooter jumped as a scream suddenly erupted from somewhere in the house.

He looked over the edge, trying to recover from the shock. Then, he smiled.

It sounded like everything was going well.

* * *

Sadie screamed as she felt something yank at her ankle, sending her onto her stomach. She grit her teeth through the fresh wave of pain on her face as her ankle hit the carpet, making her teeth bite right into her tongue. The taste of blood filled her mouth.

Several gashes and shallow stab wounds now sported the young teen's body, marring her clothes and body in red. Blood coated her hands. The most prominent was on her face, where a long jagged cut ran diagonally down her face, starting at the corner of her right temple, splitting into her eyebrow and the inner crevice of her eye, cutting right across the bridge of her nose, before digging particularly deep into her nostril- severing the skin- and running through her cheek before trailing off at her jawline.

Something jabbed itself into the back of her calf, and Sadie shrieked as it was dragged down the length to her heel, before ripping itself out. She daringly turned around. A little clown puppet looked up at her, a sickening grin on its painted face as it held up its small knife, before shoving it downwards, plunging it right into her ankle. Sadie's voice hurt her own ears as she screamed, trying to kick it away. She ripped her head back to the front, broken nails digging into the carpet and knees banging against the floor as adrenaline rushed through her veins. She crawled like a soldier in boot camp towards the stairs, determined to put as much distance between these devils and herself as she could.

She lunged for the railing, grasping it with one bloody hand as she pulled herself up, trying to ignore her agonized leg and the ache in her muscles from the cuts.

Despite her inner mind screaming at her to just get down the stairs and bounce, Sadie looked again over her shoulder. Please don't be right behind her, please don't be behind her, please don't-

One puppet, this one with a rather big frame that seemed too heavy to balance on his toothpick legs and a tiny head, now replaced the trenchcoat puppet's place on the hallway table. There was something large in his hands...

Sadie shrieked, ducking her head only a split second before the decorative vase smashed against the wall behind her. If she hadn't been so lucky, she could've easily gotten knocked out.

Survival instinct taking over, Sadie made a grab for the steps, leaping down two at a time, trying to ignore how it aggravated the wound in her leg. Two of her fingernails ripped from their beds when she grabbed the railing when she misjudged one step and was nearly sent flying to the bottom.

With one final stomp that sent pins and needles up her legs, Sadie made it to the bottom. She turned around, backing up as she watched three little silhouettes steadily begin to the descent the stairs. Her hand felt around behind her, her grey eyes darting this way and that to try and find some kind of weapon to defend herself.

 _Forget about defense, just get the hell out already!_ Her mind screamed.

There was a growl behind her.

Sadie jumped, her hip hitting the edge of a table as she turned to face the source.

Another puppet stood on the counter. Its red eyes glowed menacingly in the darkness, highlighted by its metallic head. Its slack jawed mouth stood open, deep snarls coming from within as a row of bullet head teeth glinted in the darkness at her. It pointed its right hand at her- there were no fingers on this one; nothing but a stumpy nozzle.

Sadie whimpered. She took one step back.

A flash of bright orange burst from the puppet's hand. A heavy, suffocating blanket of heat suddenly smothered Sadie, the feeling of a thousand fire ants biting her skin coming over her all at once, her hair suddenly smelling.

Chilling, hollow screams echoed throughout the house.

* * *

In her bed, all the meanwhile, little Josie slept on. The seven year old groaned as she tossed and turned, her eyebrows furrowed as she clutched Mr. Jingles tightly to her chest. Her free hand clenched into the sheets, her sherbet colored curls tangling and knotting as her head went back and forth.

Her peaceful reverie had been shattered, and the little girl whimpered in her sleep as she found herself flung herself into a horrendous nightmare. One that would not allow her to wake from it.

She was running, running so fast. But the monster chased after her. It crept up on her, right behind her, breathing down her neck. No matter how fast she ran, no matter how many corners she turned, the monster was right there.

"Gaeley...Gaeley, help me," she whispered to no one, a small tear making its way down the side of her head.

Then the monster had caught up. It dangled her above its mouth, messing with her, teasing her. Every touch of its sharp claws on her skin, every time it gave her its wide toothed grin, the dirtier she felt. Dirty, dirty, dirty, so dirty. Like she would never get clean.

The monster was going to eat her. And she would die dirty. Dirty, dirty, dirty...

Josie's eyelids fluttered.

Suddenly, there was a light. It blinded her and the monster. The monster let her fall, but the person in the light caught her.

It set her down. Josie leaned on her palms. An angel?

She watched as the monster screamed, tried to find the angel. But the angel destroyed the monster. The monster backed away, but the angel refused to let it run away. It cut the monster down, hacking off piece by piece, holding it down, while the monster cried and begged for mercy. Finally, the angel cut its head off. The monster lay still.

Josie looked up. She couldn't see the angel's face. Its entire face was encased in shadow. But...she could see its eyes. Warm green eyes met her own piercing blue gaze.

The angel held out its hand. Josie smiled, reaching up and taking it. The angel's large palm completely encased her small pudgy one.

In her bed, Josie finally settled down. She curled up on her right side, Mr. Jingles still pulled tightly to her chest.

However, this time, the little girl's face relaxed as she smiled, drifting into a peaceful sleep once again, completely oblivious to the chaos that was happening right outside her door.

* * *

" _A-Audrey, w-wait," I try to say as I pull away. She only pushes forward, connecting our mouths again; I moan as a electric feeling runs through my entire body when I feel her tongue slide against mine._

 _She's driving me crazy with the way she keeps squeezing my hips with her knees, how she's constantly moving around in my lap. My hands hover, not exactly knowing where to put them. Audrey is the one to pull away this time, nuzzling my neck. I let out a shallow breath, feeling heat pool into my abdomen as I feel her start to kiss her way down, pulling my collar to press her lips to my shoulder, then my throat, then my collarbone. I run my hands down her back, before I dare to be bold and slip under her skirt, squeezing her ass. Audrey responds with a satisfied groan._

 _How in the hell did I get into_ this _situation? Last thing I remember was drinking cheap beer in Virgil's living room, then Lora Dawson persuaded me to join them in beer pong, then I somehow ended up in the kitchen with Kimberly, and now I find myself in this car- I think it's Virgil's, I can't remember- with Audrey? Goddamn, it really is a dream come true._

 _Audrey pushes me down onto my back. I hiss when I feel her hand slip between us, rubbing me. She starts unbuttoning my polo, kissing every little inch of new skin. I throw my head back. Shit._

" _Is this what you wanted?" Audrey asks, not looking up._

 _I groan, trying to shift. It's way too damn hot in this car. "Audrey-"_

" _Is this what you wanted?" she repeats._

 _That voice isn't hers._

 _I look up, a little startled. "Audrey?"_

" _Is this what you wanted?" she says, looking up at me._

 _It's not her. It's Kailani._

 _I jump, but she grabs my wrists, holding me down as she stairs at me with this empty grin. There's blood on her face. It's everywhere on her body, in fact. On her face, in her hair, on her clothes._

" _K-K-Kailani?!"_

" _Is this what you wanted?" she just keeps asking me, smiling at me as she tilts her head. Her face is covered in lacerations. Her bottom right eyelid has been split down the middle, the skin slightly flapping like pages in a notebook. There's a giant bleeding hole in her arm, and another one in her collarbone._

 _I feel sick. I try to back up, but she holds me down. Her eyes- those empty brown eyes, once so full of malicious delight are not hollow, unfeeling._

" _Is this what you wanted?" she asks again._

 _Her hands let go of mine and lunge for me, wrapping tightly around my neck. I struggle, but she has an iron grip around my throat. I try and squirm._

" _K-Kailani...s-stop..." I gasp out, a fire starting to spread in my chest._

" _Is this what you wanted?" she asks again._

 _She's melting, I realize with horror, her face and body shifting in this now empty blackness we've suddenly appeared in. I want to scream as I suddenly come face to face with the skeleton like creature from before. He's standing up, keeping me on my knees as he continues to choke me. I can feel his nails start to pierce my skin._

" _Is this what you wanted?" he asks, his deep voice sounding like it's coming from everywhere. I squeak. My eyes are watering, black spots are appearing in my vision._

 _The creature's eyes blaze like the Sun, and his fused mouth opens wide, his voice thundering._

" _ **IS THIS WHAT YOU WANTED**?!" _

I jerk, my eyes peeling open. I can feel my heartbeat pick up the pace, my breath calming out in short gasps. It was just a dream. No Audrey, no Kailani, no whatever the hell that thing was. Just a dream. A nightmare.

Except...I'm actually in a car?

I feel my forehead crinkle as I slightly lift my head. I'm buckled into someone's passenger seat, my head leaning against the window. There's something bright up ahead. I try to look up, only to squeeze my eyes shut as the fluorescence sears my eyeballs. I'm suddenly hit with the _worst_ headache, as if someone's suddenly smashed a brick against my skull. I groan, bringing a hand up. Damn. I'm never drinking again.

"Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty."

I look to the left.

"...C...Carter?" I ask, narrowing my gaze.

"The one and only," he responds. There's something unreadable in his voice. I look at him. He has this weird look in his eyes. He has one of his hands on the wheel, and is wearing this light blue sweatshirt that has 'Concordia U 2012' printed on the front. It hurts my eyes a little to look at.

"...Where...where...?" I trail off, looking around as I become more aware of my surroundings.

I'm in his car. The time on the dashboard clock reads that it's almost midnight. I look out the windshield. We're parked in front of some sort of mini-mart, a digital sign giving out the prices for cigarettes, various surveillance camera pictures of people that have 'THESE SHOPLIFTERS ARE NOT WELCOME' scrawled on the bottoms plastered in a giant collage on the windows.

Carter bounces his leg. "Your friend went in to get some snacks and water. I told her getting some food in you would help you sober up. And for your sake, I hope you're enough of a lightweight that that goes quick."

I rub my eyes, trying to dispel the pounding in my head. Audrey's here? Why... I ask, "How...did she call you?"

"Actually, _you_ did, remember?" Carter answers.

Me? Why the hell would I...I frown when I realize my memories are completely blurred. I search for the last thing I remember, only to come up short. "...I...I don't."

Carter turns so he's completely facing the wheel, his brows rising. "Well, you called me about half an hour ago, saying you were 'living it up' and how you were sorry you couldn't make the last party I invited you to, but that I should totally come because, in your words, 'I could totally help you raise hell,'" he says with finger quotations.

I blush. Shit, so I'm _that_ kind of drunk. So not cool.

"I couldn't really understand you at first, but then Audrey took the phone from you and gave me directions. We both came to an agreement- as much I didn't want her to come, considering the circumstances- that it was time to get you home," he explains, "You didn't want to come at first, yelling at me about how you were 'finally being your own man' and how I was 'putting a damper on your mood' while everyone stared.

"But then, when I got you to the car, you started crying, going on about how much you hated your life and how the world is so unfair and some other...personal things."

He gets this dark look across his face, and I can see him swallow hard. That suddenly spawns a seed of nervousness in my chest.

"What kind of...personal things?" I ask hesitantly.

Carter looks at me, giving me this bittersweet, pitying expression. It makes my heart sink.

Oh, god. Please no.

"Let's just say I learned more about you tonight than I have in the past six months we've been working together," he answers, looking at his lap.

He suddenly lifts his head, those hazel eyes firm.

"Look, Gael'," he says, "I'm really sorry about what happened to your dad, and I get it, it must really suck with you hearing how that son of a bitch responsible is out and about. You're angry, you're hurting, you don't know what to do. You feel like the whole world is against you.

"But Gaelin, I'm going to tell you right now that _this-"_ he gestures to me, making a circling motion with his finger, "Is not the right way to go, and it never will be. You think it is, because you get numb and you forget the problem's there for the moment, but just because you ignore it doesn't suddenly make it go away. And when you let it sit there, it just builds and builds, higher and higher until it's all completely out of your control and everything blows up in your face, and there's nothing you can do to stop the damage. Believe me, I've tried that same tactic. And I will tell you, it doesn't work. It never has and it never will."

I can't look at him. I want to lash out. I want to tell him he doesn't know jack shit, that I don't need to be lectured like he's my fucking parent, that he's just my manager who I've barely even seen as of late, that nobody possibly could understand what it's been like for me. I want to scream and blame and hit something. But I don't. I just look down at my lap. Tears spring my eyes. My throat tightens.

Dammit, this was not how the night was supposed to go. I just wanted to get drunk and have a little fun, not wind up a blubbering mess in Carter's car, spilling to him all the skeletons in my closet nobody was supposed to know about, how fucked up my life really is.

I feel a hand on my shoulder, looking up to see Carter still staring at me.

"I want you to promise me that whenever you have another thought like that, you'll call me," he says. There's no need to mention what 'that' is, "None of this drinking and partying shit. No matter where or when, when you need someone to talk to, I'll be there."

My voice is barely a whisper, "Why do you care?"

"Because you're a good kid, and I've seen too many people close to me get lost along the way because they were stuck in the same position as you," he replies, "Don't make yourself carry that weight alone, Gaelin. Let us help you."

The car door behind me opens, interrupting our conversation. I look back to see Audrey's brightly colored head pop in.

"They were out of Voltage, so I got you Code Red- nice to see you awake, Gaelin," she says. I shyly look away.

Oh, god, what if I said something to Audrey that she wasn't ever supposed to know?!

That horrifying thought is enough to make my stomach completely turn. Either that, or the smell of greasy food coming from the bag she's holding. I grimace; the pounding in my head has yet to subside.

"You'll probably feel better if you eat something," Carter comments.

Even though my gut is saying no, I force myself to take the taquito Audrey holds out to me, slowly chewing it as Carter starts up the engine, backing out. I look at the clock. 11:50.

I realize that if Mom and Paul are home, I'm fucking screwed.

….oh well. Can't get any worse than this.

* * *

" _Tunneler! Did you see that?!"_

" _Yes, I did."_

" _Does...does that mean-?"_

" _Yes...he's waking up."_

* * *

Sadie rolled around on the floor, trying to put out the inferno that had consumed her body. Her seared clothes clung to her body, her skin bubbling and blistering as the flames ate away at her flesh. She slapped at her skin, desperate to smother the fire. She sat up, hitting a lighted area near her leg. When she finally managed to put out the flame, Sadie held her shaking arms out in front of her, hyperventilating at what she saw.

Her skin was bright red and angry, blood and lymph fluid creating an eerie shine where the outer layers peeled away, exposing bright pink muscle. Big blisters domed the surface. She felt sick when she saw edges of black around the edges of some.

There was a noise behind her. Sadie scrambled when she saw the three little bastards were watching her, like watching her get lit on fire were some form of entertainment for them.

The robotic puppet held out its little flamethrower, its jaw moving up and down as its eyes started to glow again.

"NO!" Sadie screamed.

She was not going to die here. Not in this fucking madhouse, by Killough's monstrous creations. No, she wasn't going to die! Not here! Not now!

She looked for a way out.

The front door was right in front of her.

Her wounds screaming in protest, Sadie managed to get to her feet- the anguish made her go lightheaded, and she stumbled- just as something flew through the air, embedding itself into her shoulder. Sadie screamed, feeling warm blood stream down her back, but she refused to fall.

Just a few more steps, and she was free. Just a few more.

She ran to the door.

She could hear their little footsteps behind her.

She grabbed the door. The knob refused to budge.

"Come on, come on, goddammit!" she sobbed as she struggled to get the lock open, her shaky fingers refusing to cooperate with her. Their footsteps were gaining.

The knob suddenly gave in, and Sadie yanked at the door with all her might.

A cool blast of air hit her as the moonlight suddenly shined in her face.

Sadie burst through the door, soles slapping against the concrete as she ran up the street. A whistling sound pierced the air, and she nearly collapsed as a bullet hit her right in the hip. Her adrenaline rush would not be deterred, though, and with blood gushing from the wound, she ran for dear life.

"HELP! SOMEBODY HELP!" she screeched as she waved her hands, not looking back even once.

* * *

"Uuuuh," I moan, squeezing my eyes shut as Carter makes a sharp turn into the neighborhood. My stomach gets a queasy feeling in it, my headache refusing to let up. I lean against the window, trying to find some sort of comfort in the coolness.

"Just take deep breaths, bud, we're almost there," he says. I just groan in response.

I'm never drinking again.

I feel a hand on my shoulder, Audrey's voice close to me. "Maybe you should roll the window down, get some fresh air."

I rub my head. I take her advice, though, reaching over with my opposite hand to push on the button. We should be only a few minutes away. If my luck hasn't completely abandoned me, Mom and Paul should still be out, which means I will have plenty of time to hop into bed and hopefully sleep the rest of this off. I'm going to be hungover as all hell, but at least I can pass that off as just being sick. If it has left me, well, I guess I should say my prayers before Mom beats my ass.

The cool air is a bit soothing, cooling down my sweaty and overheated body.

We all jump when something heavy cracks through the air like a thunderbolt. I curl up in my seat, shielding my face.

"What the hell was that?" Carter asks. I look out.

"I...I don't know-"

" _HELP! SOMEBODY, OH GOD, SOMEBODY HELP!"_ a shrill voice screams from somewhere nearby, making me jump again. _"HELP! HELP! I NEED HELP!"_

My instincts instantly go on high alert, and I look out the window. Its hard to see when its this dark out. I don't see anyone on the streets or leaning out of their houses.

" _SOMEONE SAVE ME! PLEASE, SAVE ME!"_

A figure darts from the right, and I get shoved forward as Carter suddenly slams on the brakes, only missing them by a few feet.

It's a woman, and my stomach lurches when I realize she's covered in blood, what even looks to be bad burns littering her torso, head, and arms, exemplified by Carter's headlights. I make eye contact with grey eyes, and something in me goes cold when I realize that they're familiar.

"Is that Sadie?!" Audrey exclaims from behind.

Sadie doesn't seem to realize it's us. She just puts her hands out in front of her, like we don't already see the wounds, and she just continues to scream.

"HELP ME!" she sobs, "HELP ME! HELP M-"

For a second, everything goes in slow motion. Even freezes to a complete standstill, if I dare say.

For a moment, all I can see is how different this girl standing in front of me is nearly unrecognizable to the Sadie I've interacted with for the past six years. Her pale blonde hair is in strings on her scalp, most of her head now bald from what looks to be severe burns that cover her scalp, the skin inflamed, blackened, and bloody. There's a horrible cut going across her whole face. Dear god, there's even a knife sticking out of her shoulder. I take in how her shirt and bra are in tatters, hanging from her frame, how her pants have several burn holes in them, the areas dark with blood. Her skin looks raw, painful, like its going to fall off her skeleton at any moment.

I'm frozen by the fear in her eyes, how unsettling those silver grey eyes are, how they don't look right in her head. They're the size of dinner plates, her pupils shrank to the size of pinpricks. Yet, they still hold gallons of fear, unspeakable trauma, desperation to find a safe haven.

Just as quickly, though.

The fear is the very last thing that fully registers to me before a car suddenly comes out of nowhere and hits Sadie head on.


	35. Cracks In The Glass

**Chapter XXXIV: Cracks in The Glass**

The color of the walls hurts my eyes.

" _...lin..."_

They're all pure white and the lights up above reflect off of them, so they practically radiate, almost blinding you with the intensity. It's almost like staring right at the Sun.

" _Gae..."_

Were those black spots always there? I can't tell. It doesn't look like flies-they're not moving. Maybe I've been staring at them for too long. Maybe I'm seeing things.

" _Gaelin..."_

"Gaelin."

My concentration is broken. My eyes feel like I've been staring at that wall for ages.

I slowly look away from it, turning my head to the left.

Audrey stands in front of me, her arm gripping the fabric of her sleeve tightly. Her bottom lip is jutting out slightly, hazel eyes looking at me with...what? Pity? Worry? Sadness? I don't respond, just keep looking at her.

She shuffles on her feet, "I...Carter called your p-parents. They said they should be here in a few...in a few minutes."

I don't answer, just give a curt nod. I'm too tired to say any words. I turn back to the wall. There's something about the blank space that's oddly comforting. I can feel her gaze keep on me. Why, I don't know. Maybe she wants me to say something. Do something to try and calm whatever's going through her mind right now, if not in the slightest bit. But I can't do anything. I can barely help myself, never mind other people.

Finally, I hear Audrey give a little sigh, before I feel her hand on my shoulder. "I'm...I'm going to get something from the soda machine. Do you...want anything?"

I shake my head, continuing to look at the wall. The feeling of her eyes upon me strays a little bit more, before I hear her platforms walk away. My eyes start to ache from the wall, but right now it's the only thing that's keeping me from completely losing it after the whole shit-show that's gone down in the last hour.

They said Sadie was dead on arrival by the time they got to the hospital. That it was honestly a miracle she was still alive when the ambulance came. That if the blood loss or the shock didn't kill her, the collision certainly did. That there was nothing else we could do. That, if it means anything (which it doesn't) we should take some comfort in knowing that at least she didn't die alone, and had acquaintances with her in her final moments.

Yeah, right. What bullshit.

Sadie certainly didn't look like she was comforted, the memory of those wide, terrified gray eyes sending a chill through me.

 _Fucking good,_ something in my head suddenly sneers, _'Bout time that little cunt got out of the way._

I frown, _Shut up._

 _What? Oh, come on. Don't tell me you're actually upset that she died?!_

 _I am!_ I mentally growl, _No matter what Sadie did, no matter how much we hated each other, she didn't deserve that! No one deserves to go through something like that, ever!  
_

 _And yet just a few days ago, you were all the more willing to bash her skull in_ , the voice says smugly.

My fingers dig into the cushion.

 _T-t-that...t-that wasn't...I was mad at the time, I-I didn't actually mean it!_

 _Sure you didn't,_ it says, unconvinced, _Why do you keep lying to yourself? Admit it, you're glad she's dead._

 _Shut the fuck up._

 _Deny it all you want, but you and I both know the truth- when you saw her like that, it made your skin crawl with satisfaction. Finally, after all these years, after all these months of hell, finally her and the rest of those bastards are getting what they deserve!_ It exclaims, _Give them a taste of their own medicine._

"Shut up," I hiss.

 _Oh, god, and the look in her eyes? Classic! You loved it, reveled in it, yearned more! If only we had been there to see as that pretty little face got sliced up one cut at a time. To see the first match lit, to see her wriggling around, begging-_

"Shut _up_."

 _-Sputtering out half-assed apologies that she doesn't really mean in a pitiful attempt to make it all stop. But you wouldn't stop, would you? No, you would want her to suffer. Want her to feel your pain, your agony. You'd want to let her know just how you felt about her in every little inch of skin you'd rip off, show her exactly what you'd want to do to her, show her just how evil the little devil inside you really is-_

"Shut. UP," I whisper harshly, putting my hands over my ears like it will somehow dispel the sound from within. But the voice is merciless.

 _You can try and ignore it all you want, but you and I both know what really lies under that little sheepskin. What **really** lies in your heart; your darkest desires, your cruelest fantasies. You can fool everyone else around you, but you can't fool me. And why should you? There's nothing wrong with how you feel. What goes around comes around, after all. And there's only so much cowering a whipped dog can do before it bites back. _

" _Shut up, shut up, shut up!"_ I mutter between grit teeth, digging my nails into my scalp.

"Gaelin?"

The sound of Mom's voice snaps me out of my mental argument. My eyes snap open and I look to the left. She's still wearing the dark blue cocktail dress and kitten heels that she had dressed up in for her and Paul's dinner date, her face still decorated with makeup. What is she doing here?

 _Dumbass, Audrey said Carter called them_ , the voice points out.

But that was...I look at the overhead clock. It's almost one in the morning.

Has it really been an hour? I swear only, like ten minutes had passed since we got to the hospital. Have I really been zoned out this whole time? (I get a dim memory of my old therapist telling me the word for this. Disassociation, I think it was).

"...I..." I try to start, but feel dumbfounded.

Mom runs over- her ankles look like they could break any second in those heels- before I can even get a second syllable out, throwing her arms around me. She quickly pulls back, putting her cold hands on my cheeks. "Are you hurt?" she asks, her brow crinkled in worry.

I shake my head slowly, and she nods back, her shoulders drooping like fifty tons has just been lifted from them. She fiddles with my jacket, something in her eyes, before they slowly slide back to mine, as she hesitantly asks, "And...Sadie?"

"She didn't make it," I say without missing a beat, instantly hating how insensitive it sounds.

Mom's eyes widen, a hand brought to her mouth in shock. She shakes her head, a sad expression melding her face. "Oh, that poor girl. I can't imagine what it's going to be like for her mother."

I nod. I'm a bit dismayed when I realize I don't feel very sorry for Mrs. Lancaster as I think I should be.

 _That's because it's not your problem,_ the voice comments, _No skin off your nose._

 _Would you put a cork in it already?_ I think back.

Mom ushers for me to get up. I follow her out into another hallway, hearing Paul and Carter's voices engaged in conversation around the corner.

"-like I _just_ said, he had called me over since he realized he had left his things at the office and asked me to come by to drop them off," I hear Carter explain. His voice has a noticeable edge of annoyance to it.

Paul's voice responds, equally upset, "And what, he just suddenly 'poofed' into your car that was coming from the opposite direction? He's grounded, you know. _And_ his little sister is at home, all by herself. Please tell me how you explain that? In fact, why don't we bring him right here to see if your little story matches up?"

"Dude, fuck off of him, the kid just watched someone get ran over," Carter snaps, "Hell, he was nearly ready to have a panic attack when we got here. But I assume that isn't as important as proving your hot shot lawyer status, now is it?"

I turn the corner to see the two of them exchanging a glare with each other. Paul's brow is deeply furrowed, frowning so deeply it's bound to leave lines as he stands with his arms crossed; his stance for when he's really heated and ready to drag it out. Carter doesn't look like he's intimidated though, his hands shoved into his pockets as he just glares back, his head tilted up defiantly.

"Paul, we're ready to go," Mom says, seemingly oblivious to the slight tension.

They both break eye contact to look at us. Paul frowns deeper when his eyes land on me, but it seems Carter has managed to have the last word, as he just shoots him one last stare over his shoulder before he nods and gathers up his keys.

"Gaelin?" I hear someone say behind me, "Gael', where the hell did you-...go..."

We all turn. Audrey holds a bottle of soda in her hand, looking a little bit like a deer in the headlights when she realizes who's joined our company.

"A-Audrey, I-I'm about to leave," I stutter. Shit, if Carter wasn't a giveaway already...

"You know this girl?" Mom asks, and I freeze.

"This...Audrey...from school...she, um..."

"-I was on my way over- Gaelin and I are working on a project together and I realized there was some stuff I needed from him," she quickly picks up, seemingly sensing my need for an alibi, "I know that he was grounded, but I was too impatient and thought if I just went ahead, we could be done already. It was my insistence that I come over."

Mom narrows her eyes, probably not all too convinced; that, or she's just generally suspicious of why this strange black clad girl was going to come over to her house while her teenage son resided there, almost home alone. But she doesn't voice her doubts, only giving a curt nod and explaining that we need to get home. She grabs my arm, only giving me time to give both Carter and Audrey quick goodbyes over my shoulder and hopefully a grateful look to both of them. They wave back, nodding at me.

Neither Mom or Paul say anything me to as we get into the car- probably thinking that I need to be left alone for a little while after everything that has gone down (or with Paul, probably thinking over the information he's just learn and trying to piece together his argument to Mom of how this further proves I'm even more of a problem child than was already established). I pull my phone out, typing away at the keypad.

 _Thanx 4 covering 4 me,_ I send to Audrey.

 _Audrey: Aint no snitch. Plus I figured the last thing u needed was them on your ass_

 _Yeah. Thanks :)_

I look up Carter's number too. I figure I owe him this much after making him put up with my drunken laments and dragging him into this whole thing.

 _Thanks for picking me up from that place. And I heard you talking to Paul- thanks for trying to cover for me too._

 _Carter: Dude, your stepdad is a real hardass. How the hell you put up with THAT everyday?_

 _Tbh I don't, probs gonna blow a gasket sometime soon._

 _Carter: Lol_

 _Anyway, sorry about tonight. Didnt mean to ruin your night._

 _Carter:...what I said still stands, you know._

 _I mean it, anytime, anywhere. Even if its just for a few minutes. You ever need someone to talk to, I'll be here right here. Ok?_

I stare at the screen. I don't get it, I just don't get it. Why? Why would someone like Carter go all out of his way...for me?

 _Aw, is someone feeling a little...touched?_ The voice says amusedly.

 _Didn't I tell you to shut up?_

Paul pulls up to the driveway, and the three of us walk in silence up the porch. There is nothing to greet us, except for the dark and the silence of the living room.

"Why the hell does it smell like firewood in here?" Paul wrinkles his nose, "Gael', you be trying to rewire the stove or something?"

 _Why do you immediately assume_ I _did it?_ I think a little bitterly, but just reply with a shake of my head. It does smell like something burning, the dizzying scent of gasoline strong in the air.

"Whatever it is, we'll figure it out in the morning," Mom says as she tosses her purse onto the table, pulling out a chair and plopping into it. She pulls off her heels, giving us a tired look. "Now, I want to make sure nothing happened to Josie while we were gone and just go to bed."

Paul gives her a look, and something tells me he's not quite welcoming to the idea. Probably wants to keep going with his suspicions and interrogate me on just how I ended up in Carter's car three blocks from the house. But he doesn't say a word, loosening his tie and pulling his coat off. He doesn't say anything as he joins Mom and they move towards the stairs. It isn't until they're both giving me their goodnight bids that he actually is bold.

"Remember, you're still grounded."

I have to resist rolling my eyes. Instead I just walk past him, going up the stairs.

It isn't until I get to the top of the stairs that I finally realize how exhausted I am. My eyelids are already drooping as I make my way down the hall, and for a second I think I'm about to fall flat on my face asleep. I run a hand through my hair as I fling open the door, slamming it shut behind me and making a beeline for the bed. Plopping down on the bed, I yank my shoes off and toss my jacket into some corner, before curling up and yanking the duvet over my head. This night was just one massive fuck-up after another, and I'm ready to just sleep and get some goddamn peace.

Except the moment I close my eyes, all I see is Sadie's burnt, bloody, mutilated face staring back at me.

My fists clench in the pillow, and I try to will the image away, only for it to firmly plant itself in front of my eyelids.

 _It's because you want to relish in it,_ the voice laughs, _The look of what goes around finally coming around. Finally, she's shown she ain't all that. And not so pretty, either. Not so proud._

I grit my teeth.

"Why can't you just _go away_?" I snarl.

 _Hate me all you want, buddy, but you can't keep me locked away forever. I am you, after all. And I can see every little thought you have, even the ones you push to the back, thinking no one will ever know what they are-_

I mutter, "Shut the hell up," as I sit up, putting my head in my hands.

 _It's not going to do any good to deny yourself. Admit it, you've been wanting every last one of them dead for a long, LONG time. Long before I showed up. And looking back, who could blame you? Anyone in your shoes for five minutes could understand- the name calling, shoving you into lockers, stealing your homework, pouring soda down your back and squirting ketchup in your hair- it's too much. Just enough to make anyone want to go postal._

There's a weird chatter coming from somewhere in the room. I can't decipher what they're saying, just a bunch of unintelligible white noise that at the moment sounds like nails on a chalkboard to my ears.

"I'm not to listening to this," I growl.

 _You LOVED it. You've been dreaming of these days for a very long time. All those fantasies of shoving Makoa from the railing so she broke her neck, the debating of bringing a knife with you so you could stick in Loftis' throat the next time he ran up on you, taking 'sweet' little Sadie and splashing that beaker of phosphoric acid in her face. You said you'd rue the day that the tables turned, so why are you denying yourself?_

"Stop."

The noise grows, and the voice just keeps on pushing.

 _Why do you keep feeling bad for them? They don't give a single damn about you! You tried to be passive, you tried to be understanding and look where it's gotten you. Nowhere but deeper in misery. It's why your had is in that cast, it's why your precious girl is in that garbage can, it's why your father is now a rotting corpse in Baxville Cemetary-_

" _SHUT UP!"_ I yell, unable to take anymore.

The noise cuts out immediately. Its then that I finally register that there's no one here but me. Me and the silent insanity of my own mind.

Movement from the right catches in my eye, and I turn to see the puppets all gathered on the top of my drawers, looking at me with a little caution from my sudden outburst. I swear, realizing they've just seen me talking to myself for a solid five minutes. Because they totally need to think I'm going insane right now.

"Sorry about that, you guys," I say as I run a hand through my hair, "It's just...it's been a...really bad night."

They don't do anything to imply they get it. They just stare at me.

"What?"

Nothing. They're all huddled around in a little circle, like there's something they don't want me to see.

That's when I notice the big apparatus off to the right. It's some kind of table- like something directly out of Frankenstein- with some metal bolts at the top, a little pile of a random rubber tube piled next to it. I frown.

"What..the hell have you guys been doing in here?" I ask as I get up to further inspect it. They don't answer me.

That's when I notice something strange about their little group.

I pause and do a headcount.

One, two, three four...there's eight of them.

There should only be seven.

A glint of something round and metallic that's standing behind Blade makes me take a step back.

"Who's...that behind you?" I ask, pointing to it.

Blade raises his chin at me, looking a little over his shoulder before he moves to the side to let whatever is behind him face me.

It's the puppet with the metallic head. Only this time, he's standing on his own, his hands outstretched in front of him like he's still getting the hang of it. His head is slowly turning from side to side, like he's regarding me.

My eyes widen.

"You brought him to life? How?!" I question.

Pinhead points to the table. It only makes me even more confused.

"Wait a minute, wasn't that in the bottom of the trunk? That's how you brought him to life?"

They nod.

"But, it looks so...complicated," I comment, "And it doesn't look like it hooks up to anything. And our fluid supply is already low-"

Something makes me freeze at the mention of the latter. A thought comes to me, making a balloon of dread creep up in my chest. I look back to the table, my heart sinking when I see the syringe and now empty vial sitting next to the tube.

I rush over and grab it, looking it over in disbelief before I shoot the puppets a look. "You guys used _all_ of it? There was barely enough for three of you!"

They shrink back like a bunch of scolded children.

"Why would you do that?! Without me here, especially!" I reprimand, waving the vial at them, "Now, what am I supposed to do the next time you need a refill, huh? I don't know anything about the formula your dad...creator...whatever used, and you guys didn't even leave a drop!"

I sound angry, but on the inside I'm actually panicking. I don't know when the next time the puppets will need a refill will be. Probably soon, but we have literally nothing left of the fluid.

And if my puppets don't get the fluid, then they'll...my precious puppets...

No, don't go there, Gaelin.

" _That is precisely why I was brought here,"_ a voice suddenly says.

I stiffen, spinning around. There's nobody there. I look suspiciously at the ceiling, gripping the vial in my hands. "Who the hell said that?"

" _I did,"_ it replies. That's when I notice the metal headed puppet is gesturing to himself.

I lean back, a little apprehensive.

"You...you can talk," I say.

It nods its head. _"For the moment, yes. But I'm afraid I don't have long. And there's so much we need to talk about."_

 _How, though? You don't even have a mouth!_ I think.

I can't go through with my follow up questions, though, as I'm suddenly froze when I realize that the puppet's face is...changing?

Before I can't even comprehend it, its round, shining cranium morphing into a face. Not just any face, though. A _human_ face. Complete with wrinkles, grey hair, and a beard. Greyish blue eyes blink before they move up to me- causing me to take a step back in fear- before the face smiles.

"What the fuck?" is all I manage to say.

The puppet's...man's...whatever's...face nods, a chuckle coming from him.

"I know you must have many questions right now, Gaelin," he says, like some kind of old man wanting to catch up with his grandson. "My puppets have informed me the extent of your knowledge, but I suspect I will know what to tell you if I ask you myself."

I swallow, uneasiness crawling over my skin like a horde of ants. "Your puppets, what...How do you know my name? Who are you?"

"Aw, of course, we should probably start with the introductions, shall we?" he says. He gives a short bow, putting a gloved hand to his chest.

"I am the one who created these dear puppets, and the owner of that journal you tried to educate yourself with," he says, "I am Andre Toulon."

* * *

 _A/N: I really want to take a second and apologize for the sudden hiatus this story has been on. I'm afraid my schoolwork has pretty much skyrocketed from 0 to 100, and its made my free time and motivation both dwindle._

 _This chapter itself was supposed to cover more, but I thought it important to really illustrate the internal conflict Gaelin is going through as the story progresses (and because I love to tease you all with a cliffhanger ;)), since it will be very important in later chapters. In good news, though, if story flow goes according to plan, we have officially less than ten chapters until the epilogue! My goal is to actually finish this sometime in the summer- at the least, hopefully early summer._

 _Thank you all for sticking with me._


	36. The Devil's Toybox

**Chapter XXXV: The Devil's Toybox**

Every word that's about to spill forth from my mouth suddenly freezes on the tip of my tongue, the only action I end up doing being my jaw dropping open as I stare at Decapitron. My mind replays what he's just said about fifty times, and no repeat makes it any easier to process.

"I….what?" I ask finally, sounding like a total dumbass.

The puppet- this "Andre"- raises his hands in caution, a suddenly look of concern on his face.

"Are you all right?" he asks, "Maybe you should sit down, you're starting to look a little faint."

 _Oh no, I'm fine, I just have a fucking talking puppet who somehow changed his entire face in front of me!_ I bark mentally, but stay silent. I do what he says, though, my body mechanically reaching for the bed post for me to balance on as I lower myself to the ground, putting a hand on my head.

"I can't…that can't…." I stammer, unable to wrap my head even halfway around this, "You aren't…there's no way."

He doesn't seem surprised by this, nodding his head as he bends his knees, sitting down with his knees hanging off the edge of the drawer. The puppets remain standing, gathered around him like an entourage of security protecting a government official. I lean against the bed, dropping my hands in my lap.

He says, "This must be a lot to take in. But I assure you, the puppets using the formula was for the best."

I run a hand through my hair, finally looking up at him.

"So," I begin, trying to figure out how to word this, "How...why did...how come..."

He smiles at me, "I guess I should start at the very beginning."

So he does.

And he spills everything.

How he started out as a down and out puppeteer in France. How he met his wife- Elsa, from the journal- at one of these shows but her dickhead father didn't approve of their relationship because of Andre's 'peasant' status. How he came across an old man who was the one to disclose to him the secret to eternal life, the gift that is responsible for why his old puppets are standing on my shelf with minds of their own. How supposedly that guy stole the secret from some demon guy and was on the run because the demon guy wanted his secrets to be just that, and in fact Andre's very first experience with animating the puppets was to hunt down the little minions the demon guy-Sultan or something-, I think he said his name was- sent after him….wait a minute…

"Hold it," I say, putting my hands in the air, "Back up a little. What did you just say?"

Andre tilts his head up, his concentration broken.

"About the protective seal?" he suggests, "Well, it's not as scary as you think it is. You just draw a circle with some-"

"No, not that," I interject, "That name you just said, the one of the demon guy."

His gaze turns rather dark, a frown marring his wrinkled features.

"Oh, yes, Sutekh," Andre says the name like it's poison in his mouth, "The Egyptian god of discord. Ever since Afzel found the formula, he'd been roaming the ends of the Earth to steal it back. And once it came into my possession, we'd been on his hitlist ever since."

I scrunch up my nose, trying to figure out why that name sounds so familiar.

My eyes suddenly widen when I remember the section from the mythology book Tunneler had showed me.

"Wait, you were serious about that?" I ask Tunneler, "You _actually_ encountered those totem things?"

Tunneler nods his head, though he makes a little grunt in his throat like he's trying not to be offended by my doubt. Andre's blue eyes go wide in horror, and he whips his head at me.

"The totems?" he says in disbelief, "They've already gotten to you?"

I hold up my hands to calm him down, "N-no, I haven't. I was just asking because they showed me a picture of them that talked about that Sutekh guy in one of my books."

Andre's shoulders slump like he's just had the weight of the world taken off of his shoulders, putting a hand to his chest (which is kinda weird, when you consider, you know, that he doesn't even have a heart beating in his chest). " _Dieu merci_. It would be just terrible if you already had to put up with those cretins without any clue how to properly ward them off. My puppets are excellent fighters who never back down, and even they can only do so much."

I nod to show I can understand, but a mention of the puppets suddenly sparks a question in my head.

"About that, actually," I say. He nods, waiting for me to go on.

"The formula…" I just say, "What…how do you _make_ it? I mean, I don't mean to sidetrack you, but I feel like we just get out of the way since, you know, we kind of don't have any of it left and I'm not exactly Dr. Frankenstein here."

Andre chuckles, "Of course. After all, it'd be a real shame if we just dropped like a bunch of marionettes with their strings cut without giving you some kind of explanation on what to do. Though I am surprised that you've managed to keep them going this long. How did you figure out how to use the syringe in the first place?"

"Let's just say it wasn't without a few incidents gone wrong," I mutter, not really wanting to think back on the terror of when the puppets first needed a recharge. Andre seems to get the message, and gets back on subject.

"Well, I will not lie to you, Gaelin," he explains, "The synthesization process is by no means easy. It requires much time, patience, and effort. There are not many materials to go into it, but the setup must be completely perfect; even the slightest misshap, and it will not work."

"I guessed as much," I answer.

Andre suddenly gets this glint in his eye, his face becoming more serious as he leans forward.

"But before I tell you anything, I must stress to you how important it is that, under absolutely no circumstances, you do not repeat this to another living soul," he warns, "This is not a process just for anyone to screw around with, and far too many have already paid for it with their recklessness. If this falls into the wrong hands-"

I frown, "I'm not going to tell anyone. I mean, you'd really think anyone would believe me even if I did?"

He gives me this strange look, a sort of sad smile that I don't understand.

"You'd be surprised at how easily even the most skeptical can be convinced when it comes to possible immortality," he says softly.

It just makes me more confused. What the hell does that mean? Is there someone besides me that knows about the puppets' secret?

"I also think it's only fair that I warn you that the key to this formula is…not exactly for the faint hearted," he adds in.

"Why?"

He swallows hard, like it's this big terrible thing that is going to get me killed or something. I nervously back up a little against the bed, a hint of dread creeping onto my nerves.

"The formula's main ingredient, the thing responsible for creating sentience in lifeless forms such as the puppets is that of…brain matter."

For a moment, the words don't fully sink in.

"Brain matter," I repeat, like the words are foreign, "L-like the stuff that's….in your skull? Like brain matter, brain matter?"

I probably sound like a total dumbass right now, but Andre seems to find no humor in it. His mouth is set in a straight line, and he's nervously tapping his fingertips together. He nods solemnly.

"Yes."

"Do…do you mean animal or…o-or human?" I gulp, even though something tells me I'm going to regret asking.

He cringes a little, looking at the wall for a moment before he redirects his gaze back down to his hands.

"….animal brain matter is sufficient and can work," he finally says after a moment of silence, "…but is really not recommended when you're animating a puppet for the very first time. The sentient period is much shorter, and it makes their behavior act a bit more…feral, for lack of a better word."

At the last word, I notice him shoot Torch a look with a slight grimace. I furrow my brows, following suit. Is that why he's so pyro-happy to try and scorch me all the time?

But that must mean he was the only one to have animal matter in the formula that created him. But that would mean that the others…

A lump suddenly hardens in my throat.

"Does…does that mean the formula that came with them had…human brains?" I ask, hesitantly.

He doesn't answer.

It's enough to let me know, though.

"How….how did…h-h-how did you g-get your hands on such s-s-s-stuff?"

He won't look at me.

"Andre," I say his name, " _How_?"

"Gaelin, please try to understand that I'm not proud of all that I've done throughout my years as the puppets' creator," he pleads, "There are many things that I wish I could do differently, that I thought were right at the time only because I allowed my mind to be consumed by thoughts of revenge or by the lust for power."

He looks at Blade, the latter giving a slight nod, like there's a silent exchange of understanding in their shared silence.

"As you may have guessed from my journal, I was not exactly what you would call a 'model citizen' during the time of Nazi Germany. Elsa I hated Hitler and the Axis powers with a passion. As did many of my friends. Each of them defied the regime some way or another- whether that be serving in the Allied forces, delivering black market food to starving Jews in the ghettos, or even just making a few jokes at Hitler's expense- but no matter what, their defiance caused them to pay dearly with their lives."

But when Afzel entrusted me this secret, and the first puppets I had- my very first experience with this delicate ability of life- became too damaged to keep going on, I thought that maybe, just maybe, there was a way to make sure their deaths weren't in vain. That even they could keep fighting, even from beyond the grave. To prove that they weren't going to go quiet."

"And soon enough, Elsa joined the ranks," I say, a memory of something written in the journal flashing to the front.

Andre looks at me with surprise, before his expression darkens in a way that makes me inch back in a little in fear. He frowns deeply, before he gives a sad look to Leech Woman, before turning back to me.

"Yes," he affirms quietly, "Even my dear Elsa."

"So you…used your friends' brain matter to bring them back to life as puppets…" I say slowly.

He nods.

"How did…you keep your supply consistent?" I question.

He gives me a sad smile, though his eyes are heavy with what seems to be shame.

"When the Nazi general who was in charge of trying to find the secret killed Elsa and burnt our house down, my only thought was to make them pay. To make them feel the level of pain I had felt," he answers, "I figured, what better humiliation than to make them part of the very ingredient they were trying to get their hands on? So I did."

He looks down, "I know it all sounds macabre now. Like I said, I'm not proud of the things I did."

My eyes widen in horror at the indication. My mouth falls open, and I struggle to try and figure out what to say to that.

Andre seems to take my silence as an explanation to further tell his life story- though if he's doing it because he thinks I'm interested or because we seem to both need a distraction, I'm not sure of.

"After that whole ordeal, I knew I couldn't stay in Germany. I fled the country and spent the rest of the war trying to make a secret getaway. I thought that if I could make it to America, I could lie low, but they were able to track me down once I got to California. But I was determined to make sure that the puppets stayed out of the wrong hands," he narrates, "I destroyed all remaining remnants I had of the formula and hid the puppets away in my hotel room before my death."

I frown, "But that doesn't make any sense. If you destroyed all vials of the formula, how did one end up with the pup-"

 _Decades later, during the span of a couple of years, groups of people were brutally murdered in the hotel_ , Audrey's voice goes ringing in my head, _People had this whole conspiracy that the puppeteer's puppets were coming back to life and killing people to retain their own lifespans._

My blood suddenly runs cold. The words die in my throat.

"Gaelin, are you all right?" Andre asks in concern, "You've gone awfully pale."

I stare at him, the lump in my throat growing and a newfound dread wrapping itself around my stomach as I look past him at the puppets.

That…there's no way…not…not my puppets…

"How," I interrupt, "How…how did they get out of the crawlspace you put them in?"

Andre looks a little taken back, before his frown returns.

"Fifty years after my death, a group of self proclaimed psychics studied my story. They believed me to be some sort of alchemist and were determined to discover the secret of the formula," he explains, "One of them, a man by the name of Neil Gallagher, believed that the formula granted the power of immortality; he sought out the puppets and after discovering the secret, used the formula on both them on himself, committing suicide as a sort of Russian roulette to see if it really worked."

His nose wrinkles in disgust, and he says the name with obvious disdain, "Sure enough, Gallagher revived himself, and used his apparent 'psychic' abilities to lure his former colleagues to the hotel, intent on using them as a means for his own future experiments, the sick bastard."

I swallow hard, "And he used the puppets to kill them."

"Yes," he admits.

A heavy, uncomfortable silence starts to settle between us. I shift, feeling scared and in disbelief. My puppets- my precious, wonderful, kind puppets- couldn't have…they couldn't have been used for…for that, could they? There's no way. But Toulon is sitting right here, and if anyone knows them the best, it's him. But…if they were…are they still…do they have any sort of desire to kill?

How do I know that they won't turn around on me?

Before I dare ponder that question any deeper, something dawns on me, and I frown when I realize an inconsistency in his story.

"B-but that doesn't make any sense," I respond, "If this guy, t-this Gallagher did manage to make himself immortal by the formula, why…I mean, no offense, b-b-but what purpose would he need the puppets? If the formula can bring life, and it requires brain matter, wouldn't it just be easier to inject into someone-"

"NO!" Andre yells so loud it makes me jump back. The puppets are shaking their heads like crazy at me. I hold my hands up in defense. Andre holds up his own, his expression wide eyed in fear.

"Never. Don't _ever_ even entertain that thought, Gaelin, not even for one second," he warns, "What Gallagher didn't understand- what the Nazis didn't understand- is that this formula is not to just use like some sort of science experiment. It has the power to bring life, yes, but this does not entitle you to start playing God when you feel like. When the formula is used on a human being, it…it changes them. As it was created by Sutekh's hands, when used on an already living being, it makes you nothing short of a monster. A hollow shell consumed with one thing and one thing only: power.

"It wouldn't matter who you were in your life, or who your friends were. Once you get the formula, none of that would matter anymore. You'd be nothing more than consumed with having it all, no matter who or what you'd have to hurt. This is what became of Gallagher. He used the puppets for his own needs and, once he thought he had it all in the bag, he tried to throw them away like garbage."

His mouth twitches, and he looks over at the puppets, sadness filling his eyes when he looks particularly upon Leech Woman and Jester. Leech looks away, rubbing her arms; Tunneler just gives a slight nod.

"…And it is what became of me, when my dear puppets used their last bit of formula to bring me back from the grave," he finishes, "I became obsessed with living forever and getting Elsa back, that…that I was willing to sacrifice them, let them wither away if it meant having the formula all to myself. That I didn't care if they got hurt in the process."

At the mention, I notice how the puppets all stop looking at him, instead focusing their attention on different directions, like the admission is still a fresh wound. It makes me clench my hands.

To think that they were willing to sacrifice their whole function of living to bring their father back so they wouldn't be alone…only to be cast aside and replaced with a dead woman…

A flash of anger runs through me, even though I try to dismiss it- after all, it'll do no good to get mad a clearly dead man who very clearly acknowledges that this was not the best thing to do at the time. But at the same time, all I can think about is the betrayal and the hurt my poor puppets must have felt.

Andre seems to notice it, despite my best attempts, and nods his head towards the puppets as if he's read my mind.

"The thing that Gallagher didn't realize, that the few who have been able to wield the power don't realize, is that the puppets are loyal to you and me as their creators," he states, "But their biggest loyalty is to each other above all. They know each other's struggles, and they share in each other's concern about their formula intake decreasing, the fear that they may 'go to sleep' for lack of a better term, and not wake up. Thus, they will stick by whoever revives them, mostly as a matter of making sure there is someone to replenish the formula, but it is not something to be taken for granted. You understand?"

I nod slowly, "You're saying, like, a you-scratch-my-back, I'll-scratch-yours, type of thing?"

"Exactly that," he confirms, "But their loyalty to one is not definite. You must treat them well and respect them as individuals, not merely as your little servants. Betray their trust or harm them in any way, and the allegiance immediately is cut. Gallagher, in his arrogance, thought that he no longer needed the puppets and threw them away. Lest to say the consequences were…disastrous."

The look of shame returns to his eyes. I think back to what he said of the puppets resurrecting him.

"And you?"

His mouth goes into a thin line. He stares at me; I raise an eyebrow, waiting for an answer.

He swallows. "…let's just say, when you're stabbed in the back, sometimes not even family is enough to dampen the feeling of betrayal."

Another wave of shock goes through me.

"The puppets…killed you too? B-b-but you're their-their creator, you gave them life in the first place-"

" I was no longer the man I was at that point. Not anymore," he cuts in, "If left to my own devices who knows what other sickening things I would have done."

That makes me go silent. After that, we just sit there.

All of this is too much. Too much to take in. I thought I was already in over my head when I first brought the puppets to life, but with all the crazy shit that's gone down tonight- Sadie, the party, all these revelations now coming to light in the moment- right now I feel like I'm about to burst.

My head's starting to hurt. I feel lightheaded, and it takes me a second to realize my hands are shaking.

"Which is why," Andre starts talking again, his voice grim, "It's important that no one else ever know that the puppets are in your possession. Even now, they are still capable of-"

His voice suddenly cuts off, and his eyes go wide as he freezes in place. The puppets' heads all whip towards him, hissing in concern as they all crowd around him. I get up.

"Andre?" I ask, making my way towards them.

Andre's lip is quivering, little sounds escaping his throat like he wants to get the words out, but there's something in the back of throat preventing him from annunciating. His eye is starting to twitch, and his hands are convulsing.

"Not now," he suddenly says.

I stop, "Andre?"

"Not now," he suddenly says desperately, looking at his hands.

To my surprise, I realize his face has become suddenly translucent- as if he's fading in and out.

"No, no, no, no, no," he says, "Not yet. I need more time."

"W-w-what's wrong?" I ask.

He looks up at me, fear in his eyes.

"Gaelin, my time has run out," he says, "But please, please listen! Whatever you do, do not let the puppets be known by anyone else. They are unpredictable, they are not afraid to tow the line between right and wrong!"

His voice is sounding farther and farther away, as if he's driving off. His face is starting to disappear, and Decapitron's shining head is making its reappearance.

"What are you saying?" I question, "What does that mean?!"

"They will do whatever they can to survive!" he calls out, "Too much blood has been spilt already due to my mistakes. Please, teach them better! Teach them-"

And just like that, he disappears completely. Decapitron stands frozen in place, like someone's pressed the pause button on him. He raises his head slightly, looking around like he doesn't have any idea what's been going on. Blade lightly taps him on the arm with his hook hand, and Decapitron looks at me and then himself.

"Is…is he gone?" I ask, "Like, for good?"

Jester's face spins into its sad expression, before he glumly nods his head. Now back in control of his own body, Decapitron just stares at me.

"Will…he come back?"

Pinhead just shrugs. Great.

I chew my thumbnail. Fantastic. So I finally have a sit down with the guy who managed to bring toys to life, find out that the secret formula behind it all requires brains for it to work, that the puppets are apparently pint size serial killers, and that I may or may not be hunted after by a god and his army of fun size demonic henchmen. I've learned so much, and at the same time, feel like I still know nothing.

What exactly was he trying to say? That the puppets are still capable of what?

Suddenly, Leech Woman's head whips to the doorway, and she gasps in horror, pointing at it. I knit my eyebrows and look at it, before turning my gaze back to her.

"What? What is it?"

She jerks her arm towards the door, like I need to go inspect it. Tunneler and Torch are mimicking her.

That's when I notice my door is open. Just a crack, nothing much, but still open.

My eyes widen, suddenly on high alert as I march towards the doorway. _Shit, shit shit,_ is all I think. I swore I closed it all the way. If Mom or Paul heard me and looked in-

I yank open the door, with only the darkness to greet me back.

Confused, I lean forward and poke my head out into the hallway.

Still nothing.

"There's no one here," I say as I close it, staring at the furnished wood for a few seconds longer.

Whatever. This has been one hellish roller coaster of a night, and really, right now I don't want to do anything else but sleep. No thinking of Sadie, no conversing with the soul of a dead guy, just sleep for as long as I want.

I wish the puppets goodnight and crawl into bed, staring at the ceiling as I pull the covers up.

Having a one on one conversation with Andre has assured me that I don't need to worry about what will happen now that I don't have any formula, since now I can just make it myself. I have nothing to worry about.

But I still can't shake the feeling that there's so much I have yet to learn.

* * *

 _A/N: Just want to let everyone know I officially have an Archive of Our Own account now! I go by the same username on there (SapphireOx), so be on the lookout for this story and a few of my others making it onto that site!_


	37. Survival of the Fittest

**Chapter XXXVI: Survival of the Fittest**

" _Okay, little to the left-"_

" _Ow!"_

" _MY left."_

" _Ew! Who's touching me, who's touching me, who's touching me!"_

" _That's me, calm down."_

" _Torch, quit shoving!"_

" _I'm not even near you!"_

Blade growled as he felt someone's leg dig into his calf, a hushed apology from Jester giving him an idea of the culprit. He clenched his jaw, trying to focus his attention on just looking ahead and keep crawling. The prostrate position he had been forced in was not in the least bit comfortable, and the stretchy material of the tubing made it hard to keep footing; times like these he cursed his lack of appendages and hands. Not to mention, it was hot as hell- and they didn't even know how much farther they needed to go.

The dreaded feeling in his chest tightened as he shuffled along the tube, trying to go as fast as he could in the small confined space. It had been there the second they had gotten into this whole mess, and refused to go away.

Curse the Master's stepfather. He was the cause of all of this!

Blade growled again at the memory. That son of a bitch. And they had all been completely caught off guard….

* * *

 _Earlier that day…_

" _Sooooo, you handling everything okay, Decapitron?"_ Six Shooter asked, feeling rather awkward as him and Blade watched the youngest of them move around the vanity, carefully observing every random object as if it were an antique.

Decapitron looked up at him, his featureless cranium blank. He replied with nothing more than a quick nod before he turned back to a photo of the master he was studying. Shooter shifted on his feet, uncomfortable as he shared a look with Blade. Blade just gave him a sympathetic look; it wasn't that Decapitron wasn't nice, he was just…rather odd. A man of very few words, it was very hard to figure out what went on in that little round head of his.

He just shrugged, and Shooter grimaced before he turned away, hopping down off of the vanity and taking up conversation with Torch on the windowsill. Blade watched Decapitron for a few more minutes, the latter seemingly ignoring him as he picked up a pencil sharpener and examined it.

He looked away, catching Jester's blue eyed gaze. The harlequin puppet has his face set into a solemn expression. Blade raised his head in concern; nodding his head, Jester gestured over to Leech Woman, who, as Blade noticed, stood uncharacteristically away from the rest of them, her black hair shielding her expression as she stood with her arms crossed, leaning against a stack of notebooks. Tunneler also stood a little off, sitting on a box of buttons with his hands in his lap as he stared at Decapitron with a bit of a sad expression.

Blade sighed. He should've known.

He nodded back at Jester, a sign for him to go for Tunneler, while Blade readjusted his hat and slowly walked over to Leech Woman. He stopped in front of her, the pink clad puppet seemingly oblivious to his presence before she slowly raised her head and turned to look at him. Her black eyes were melancholy, her red mouth twisted up into a pained expression. He noticed how she had dug her fingers into her arm, leaving little dents behind.

" _Are you okay_?" he asked, though inside he already knew what the answer was.

Leech bit her lip, looking away from him.

" _It's just…it's been so long, it's stupid. I mean, I should be over it already, right_?" she asked, her voice quivering.

Blade didn't respond. He knew better; let her get it all out first.

" _I…I mean, he's not even here anymore_ ," she rambled, " _A-a-and I mean, I got fixed, didn't I? It's n-not like anything still hurts, it's not like we're still in-_ "

" _Leech_ ," Blade finally interrupted. He stepped forward, putting the curved end of his hook on her arm, " _It's all right_."

She looked at him, her lip quivering. She looked over her shoulder, in Decapitron's direction. As soon as her eyes landed on him, she tore away, failing at trying to cover up the sob that escaped her throat. Blade let her lean into him as she quietly wept.

" _Why did he have to bring it up, Blade_?" she asked, " _why did he have to t-tell Gaelin t-t-that part of the story_?"

" _I know, I know_ ," he soothed as he rubbed her back with the flat side of his knife hand.

Even after all these years, there was still a deep scar of betrayal that went through them all whenever they recounted their failed attempt to resurrect the master; they were younger and naïve and completely unprepared for the selfish monster that had raised in his steed instead. It was a particularly hard hit for Leech Woman and Tunneler, who felt particularly hurt after Father had rather brusquely brushed off the fact that the two of them had been gravely injured in their attempt to gather more brain matter.

Blade grimaced at the memory. It was a miracle that Leech was still alive after that hog of a woman they ended up killing had thrown her into the furnace- the memory of her ivory skin burned to a blackened char and her limbs falling apart causing a faint sick feeling to come over him. She had been fixed good as new, but he knew that the whole experience of it, added with Father's newfound lack of caring, created a fragility that, although not often seen, was nearly consuming when brought out of Leech. He could see it in how she still recoiled from being too close to Torch, the fearful expression that flickered in her eyes whenever he was nearby.

After a few moments, Leech stepped away from him, wiping away nonexistent tears from her pink lined eyes, looking up at Blade and giving him a small smile.

" _I'm sorry_ ," she said.

" _Don't be_."

He looked over her shoulder to see Jester and Tunneler standing across from each other, Tunneler nodding his head at something as Jester smiled and lightly patted him on the arm. He let his shoulders drop a little, hoping that the gesture meant that the cone headed puppet's mood was lifted even just a little.

" _You know what I don't like_?" Torch suddenly spoke up, breaking the rather quiet atmosphere of the room, " _I think that guy that the Master doesn't like is onto us."_

They all looked at him, surprised by his sudden comment.

" _That guy? You mean his stepfather?"_ Shooter asked.

Torch shrugged, _"Stepfather, grandfather, uncle. Whoever he is, he's been giving us the evil eye every time he steps into the room. And I have a pretty good feeling that was him listening in on us the other night."_

" _And you think this based on that one observation?"_ Blade asked, earning him an annoyed glare from the pyro puppet.

" _Oh, come on, we're all thinking it!"_ Torch snapped, _"I mean, the little snarky comments, the look he gets whenever he walks in and looks at the dolls in general, the FIGHT; What was it he said? He'd take the chance to throw all of us in the trash if he could?"_

Blade clenched his jaw. He hated to admit it, but Torch did have a point. He thought back to the explosive fight they had faintly heard going on a few weeks ago, the moments before the Master had come storming into the room looking like he was about to cut down the next person who even looked at him wrong. He had had a sneaking suspicion himself that the Master's stepfather was up to something as well. The man just had… _something_ about him that always brought down the atmosphere, whether it was the disapproving scowl that came on every time he looked upon them or the others in Master's collection, or just his calculated way of speaking that couldn't help but get on your nerves. He wondered how the Master could stand it on a day to day basis.

" _Even if that was the case,"_ Tunneler spoke up, _"We can't really do anything about it. If anything, it's only a sign we need to be more careful. Never know when he's lurking about."_

" _I agree with Tunneler,"_ Leech Woman stated, " _Unless he poses an imminent danger, and unless the Master feels we need to take action, we just have to let him live with the paranoia….and no, Torch, we're not going to scare him into knowing his place."_

He growled at her, grumbling under his breath about not knowing what he'd say and how it wouldn't hurt to try. Blade shook his head at him. Classic Torch.

" _Shouldn't we give the benefit of the doubt?"_ Pinhead asked, " _Maybe it was the Master's sister. After the stunt she pulled with Jester, I wouldn't put it past her being curious. You know how kids are."_

" _Either way, all we have to go off any of this is what Leech saw,"_ Blade interjected, " _And Leech, you know I don't doubt your judgment, but still, it was late at night and we can't say you probably weren't seeing things. Even if the Master's stepfather is up to something, what's the worst he could d-"_

All of a sudden, the doorknob jiggled.

Their heads all shot to it, raised and alert like a mob of meerkats. Instantly, they dropped onto the floor, staying still. The only movement they dared do was to look at the door as best as they could. Even if it was the Master arriving home from his appointment, you could never be too careful.

The door flung open, revealing- speak of the Devil himself- the Master's stepfather.

He stood in the doorway with a stern glare in his eye, his brow crinkled as he gripped something shiny and black in his hands. A garbage bag?

Looking around the room briefly, the straight line his mouth had been quickly melted into a tight frown as his eyes landed upon them, observing Blade as if he were a stain on a fancy silk shirt.

Ever so slightly, Blade stiffened. He didn't that look in the man's eye.

The Master's stepfather made a beeline for where he and the others lay on the desk, reaching for Blade. His grip was tight, slightly sweaty. He held him up to his face briefly, a look of disgust marking his features.

Suddenly there was just darkness as Blade found himself being thrown into the garbage bag, grunting as he hit the bottom.

The smell of plastic was heavy, the slick material uncomfortable. There was nothing more he wanted to do than to take his knife and split it open, but Blade knew, as much as he hated it, he couldn't give himself away.

He had to hold back a yelp as something heavy suddenly landed on him, a small 'oof' coming from it that made the pins in his eyes activate. Blade could faintly make out what looked to be curved metal.

" _Tunneler?"_

" _Blade! What's going on?!"_ Tunneler hissed highly as they struggled not to push off of each other. Before the hook-handed puppet could respond, the both of them hissed in discomfort as a third form fell on top of them. Blade felt slight tickling where long hair swept across his face. Leech Woman.

One by one, they all were forced into the bag, crammed on top of each other as the stuffy heat and squeaky plastic clung to them. They felt it be lifted from the floor, and shared a horrified look with one another as they realized they were being carried out of the room.

Torch, the last one to be put in the bag, stared down at them, irritation marring his red eyes.

" _What was that you said? 'What's the worst he could do?'"_ he repeated sarcastically.

* * *

Someone slipped from behind, and Blade let loose an 'oof' as a large weight fell on him.

" _Get off, get off,"_ he squirmed under whoever it was, feeling like his joints were about to splinter. A giant hand pressed down on him.

" _Sorry about that, Blade,"_ Pinhead grumbled as he grabbed the trenchcoat clad puppet's arm, helping him to his feet.

Blade didn't respond, only looking ahead with a grimace; a groan of frustration left him as he saw only darkness.

He had thought that by going through the air ventilation system, they would have a better chance of getting out of this place- an old house, from the looks of it- than if they were to risk going through the cracks in the walls. However, he was not beginning to regret his decision- it was still pitch black in the foil tubes, and the combined weight of him and his brethren made it feel like they were going to tear right under them at any second. His knife only adding to that threat, Blade was forced to walk with his hands to his sides, feeling like he was someone walking the tightrope. When he fell, he had to crawl like he were an inch worm. It was humiliating.

" _Creeping through the mechanisms of this rotting old structure like mice,_ " he muttered, " _Not even having any idea of where the hell we are. I swear, the second I see that sorry excuse for a stepfather, I'm going to shove my knife where it will hurt him the most!"_

Pinhead lightly patted him on the shoulder. _"It's going to be all right, Blade. We just have to focus on where this leads us and figure out how to make sure that old man doesn't see us."_

Oh, yeah. _That_ guy.

Blade rubbed his eye sockets, growing more and more irritated by the minute.

This really could not get any worse.

* * *

"I take it you're not here to sell me a vacuum," a strange voice commented, "Those them?"

"Yep, every single one," the Master's stepfather spoke up, "Like I said, do what you want to them."

It was blazing hot in the garbage bag, everyone crammed into an uncomfortable position in the tiny space. Limbs were entangled, hands and feet smashed into faces, and they were all bent into ways that would make any human's back ache for days.

After being shoved into the sack as if they were potatoes, Blade had thought that they would just be thrown out into the garbage. Irritating and disgusting, yes, but it would be an easy mission to just get back up into the Master's room. However, to his horror, he felt the stepfather carry them farther than just outside the house.

Farther, to the point that involved a car starting, and a car ride that was probably no more than ten minutes, but felt like three hours. They had been taken out of the car, after that, and the last movement involved the stepfather going up what felt to be a small flight of stairs, where a door had soon opened after that and another being seemed to join the company.

The top of the bag suddenly opened, and Blade forced himself not to flinch as bright light seared his eyes.

"Goddamn, these things are ugly," the second voice, showing to belong to an old man, said, "What kind of sites you letting those kids go on over there?"

"I didn't even know what kind of dolls they were until Gaelin came back from the hospital," the stepfather answered, "Even if I did, Max would've bitten my head off if I said one thing. But it needs to be done. The longer he hangs onto them, the more detrimental he's becoming to his own progress."

"I doubt he'll exactly be jumping for joy when he realizes you stole his belongings out of his room."

"Oh, he'll be pissed all right; probably will cuss me out again, might even not speak to me for a few weeks. But enough is enough. Max thinks the sentimental value of the dolls will help, but it's obvious it's only making him worse," the stepfather replied.

The voice asked, "That bad, huh?"

"Oh, you wouldn't believe it," came the response, "Last night I caught him talking to them. Like, having a full blown conversation. And not even a pretend, comedic, weird-things-you-still-do-as-a-teen kind of way. I mean, like he sounded…afraid; sincerely afraid. Can you imagine? A seventeen year old being afraid of an imaginary conversation?"

There was the sound of the second old man clicking his tongue in pity. "Always thought something wasn't right with that boy."

"It's not that," the stepfather defended, "It's just…it's unhealthy.

"You know, when I first started seeing Maxine and she told me the whole thing with Gaelin and the dolls, I admit, I was a little taken back," he added, "but I thought he'd come around in time; just needed a little time to grieve and all. But as the months went on and we got engaged, Gaelin…started taking it to a whole new level. He's become obsessed with them- he just spends all day up there with them. It's like he's weeding out real people and replacing them with…well, _these_."

A surge of anger went through Blade as he listened to the conversation.

Just who the hell was this man to decide what was best for the Master?! Okay, sure, there were a lot of things that were…off with the Master- you'd have to blind not to see that were some things definitely looking beneath the surface of that pale green gaze- but it had nothing to do with Blade and the puppets, nor did it have anything to do with the Master's collection! Getting rid of them wouldn't cure the Master of his depressive episodes; it wouldn't just suddenly make him beam and smile and make him the epitome of clouds and rainbows. No, it was clear that this man was just making excuses to justify his selfish behavior- just another fool who thought if he did his deeds dirty, he'd be able to get his way. What a dredge on existence.

(Part of his anger, though he'd deny it, also stemmed from feeling a little more than humiliated. He was _not_ some child's plaything. He had taken on gods and Nazis, for _Dieu's_ sake!).

"Well, then I guess you've come to the right place," the old man spoke up after a moment of silence, "I think I've got a few ideas up my sleeve for where these will go."

"Remember, Gaelin doesn't know that I took these from his room, so you _cannot_ let him see any trace of them. Not in your trash, not somewhere where he or Josie might see when Isaac watches her, not even in the guest room-"

"I know, I know, god! I swear, it's like that mouth of yours is hard wired to never stop talking," the old man replied snappily, "Ain't like the boy gonna come in here and threaten me, I'll show him a thing or two if he even tries it. You've got nothing to worry about. I'll make sure these…things are 'disposed' of _properly_."

Blade stiffened. He felt someone grab onto the handle of his hook for dear life, sparing a glance at Tunneler and Pinhead's terrified faces.

He had not liked the sound of that. Not. One. Bit.

* * *

 _Now…_

When traded off to the old man, Blade's nerves had only been further shot when he realized they had been carried into his own house, before going up a flight of stairs and being tossed into the corner of what they quickly discovered was the attic. A gross, one at that, with all the antiques covered in a thick layer of dust and cobwebs and dead insects marring the floor and windowsill like crumbs.

It had taken them forever to figure out a way to get out of the attic- the window had had a rusted lock latched onto it, and not even with all of them standing on it would the door to it open even an inch; they finally had to resort to crawling through an old water damaged tear in the wall and having to brace small wooden ledges before Blade was able to find the air vent tube.

It had been long and torturous. It was dark, stuffy, and an unreliable means of escape, all three factors only making anxiety grow all over Blade like vines on a tree. He hated the dark, he hated small confined spaces, and he hated being in a position where he had no idea where he was being taken. They were three things he had to experience far too much in his role as a puppet, and he rather not have to repeat them again.

After a few more minutes of walking- or fumbling, was a better word in his case, having to rely on Pinhead to keep his balance- a shutter went through Blade as his hook hand suddenly clanged on something metallic, a noise instantly smothered in the confined space.

Could it be? He thought as he scraped his hook along the surface. It sounded smooth for the most part. He took a wobbly step forward, placing his foot out in front of him. Flat surface rested under him.

" _Finally!"_ he hissed in relief. They had finally reached the main, box-like mechanism in the ventilation system. He shot forward, cool air granting a huge relief from the boiler-like atmosphere he had had to endure in the past fifteen minutes. His footfalls on the metal surface made small little clanks slightly echo in the box. He lifted his hook, running it along the ceiling as he walked along, until, with great satisfaction, he felt it give way to empty air. The top. Thank _god_.

Several little clanks behind him told him the others were making their way onto the platform as well. he turned; Torch's eyes were their only real source of light (despite the latter's insistence for them to let him turn up his flamethrower; he 'promised' it would only be a low flame), and even then they only provided everyone to see a faint outline of each other in red.

" _Six, Pin, help me up,"_ Blade called to them, " _If we get up here, we should be able to navigate the air vent all the way to the outside."_

It proved to be no easy task- Blade's original plan of them just scaling up the sides was thrown out the window when he realized how apart they were- Pinhead having to lift Six and Blade up on his shoulders, where then Six had to use all his arms to boost Blade up to the top of the ledge, something that was almost disastrous when the duo's vastly different body proportions made their little tower wobble to and forth. Once he got to the top, he had to lean on his stomach, hanging nearly halfway off the ledge as Pin and Six helped the others up to lower his hook for them to grab onto.

" _This is ridiculous,"_ Leech Woman mumbled as she smoothed out her dress, " _First we get thrown into a garbage bag like we're moldy chicken, and now we have to navigate our way through an air conditioner? What are we, mice trying to find cheese?"_

" _Well, it was either this or we waste our energy trying to find a way to break that stupid lock on the window,"_ Six pointed out as he rolled his middle arm, " _I mean, why would anyone put that there in the first place?! What, are they planning on kidnapping children and keeping them in there?!"_

" _Obviously, we got out,"_ Tunneler remarked. Irritated, tired, and afraid, he was quickly growing tired of what he felt to be everyone complaining. " _Now, all we need to do is just focus on which way this leads us, make sure that old bat stays out of sight, and figure out how we're going to find which way the Master lives-"_

" _Wait, hold up a second,"_ Blade held both his arms out, stopping them, " _Do you hear that?"_

The chatter ceased as they all stood still. There was some kind of noise coming from somewhere off in the vent. It was faint, and they couldn't quite pinpoint just what direction it was coming from.

It sounded like...talking?

Blade frowned. It was too far away to decipher who was saying what or understand the words that were being spoken, but it was there. He took a few hesitant steps forward, trying to figure out where to go.

There was the slightest buzzing to what he guessed was the right. He slowly began to trail that direction, trying to keep his grip on the small noise. It steadily grew louder- it sounded like a possible conversation, though what subject was being discussed was still unknown.

A sudden loud noise that sounded like a laugh pierced his eardrum from the left, and Blade whipped around to find, to his relief, what finally looked to be a light source. Speedwalking towards it, flanked by Pinhead and Jester, a rush of excitement flowed through him when he saw a square of light coming from the bottom of the air vent.

"...don't understand why you just don't take the tour already," a youthful-sounding man's voice came from it.

Blade suddenly froze. Shit, they were right near the filter. If they weren't careful, they would be as exposed as newborns in the jungle. Motioning for Pinhead and Jester to slow down, the three of them slowly approached the filter, standing at the edge as they slowly craned their necks to look at the bottom.

"And do what? Waste four hundred dollars to get shown around some hodge-podge excuse for a nursing home that wants to try and bleed me dry of my hard earned social security until I keel over? I think absolutely not!" The voice of the old man replied snappily.

There was a sigh from the second speaker. "Granddad, Cherish Falls is specifically made to cater to veterans. They have full fledged meal plans, a pool, round-the-clock-housekeeping-"

"And being made for veterans, they should know damn well better than to try and leech off of an old man who's just trying to enjoy his retirement!" he responded, "And not even offered a gourmet meal! Just some slop on a plate! My memory isn't that bad that I'll just eat anything!"

Through the slants in the vent, Blade could get a good view of the old man's balding head as he sat at a table, wearing a scowl on his face. A younger brunette man came into view, pulling on a black blazer as he looked at the old man.

"Just," he said tiredly, like this was a conversation he had already had many a time, "Tell me you've at least come to a few final choices, at least. Like, a top four or something."

The old man folded his arms, the frown on his face making the lines around his mouth even deeper. He replied, "Oh, that's what you want, isn't it? Wanting to rush your poor old grandfather into the best one you can throw him in so you can finally have this house all to yourself."

The young man rolled his eyes, but said nothing.

Blade tapped his foot on the vent. Their best means of escape so far seemed to be to just open the vent and, if this view was correct and this was the kitchen, make their way to the front door. The only problem would be for both the men to _leave_ , which didn't seem to be happening any time soon.

"Well, I got to get to work," the younger man said, "Mrs. Saint Claire also asked me to watch Josie this afternoon, so don't be surprised if those cupcakes are gone by three."

"You spoil her empty, that girl," the old man said, "Pretty soon she'll never want to leave."

The young man grinned, "I can't help she's the sweetest kid on the planet. Besides, you love her to death."

The old man said nothing to this, only a slight 'harumph.'

Blade frowned. Josie. He had heard that name somewhere-

Someone suddenly grabbed tightly onto his sleeve, and he looked over to see Jester gripping the fabric of his arm tightly, his other hand grasping his knife. There was an uncharacteristically infuriated look on his face, a dark glint in his bright blue eyes.

" _Jester?"_ he asked, a little taken back, " _What's wro-"_

" _It's HIM,"_ Jester hissed, the fury lacing his words strong enough that Blade almost backed away in a bit of fear.

" _Who?"_ Pinhead asked, equally as confused.

" _Him!"_ Jester repeated, " _Isaac! The pig I told you violated the Master's kid sister! That's him right there!"_

He pointed angrily to the younger brunette, his eyes screaming the want for bloody murder. Blade's mouth fell open, and he turned back to the one in question, who gave his grandfather a hug goodbye before turning to leave the question. A million emotions ran through him at once.

Oh, god. What were the odds? Not only were they stolen away from the Master's room, but they ended up in the place of a child molester, of all things?!

At the moment, a flare of rage went through Blade. There were many things he'd been willing to do and had done in his life, but he drew the line at harming children. And the thought that the scumbag was only a few feet away- the fact that he was someone who had harmed someone close to the Master, of all people- made his knife hand flinch with temptation.

He shook his head. No. As much as he wanted to, they had bigger things to worry about in the moment then personal justice. The last thing they'd need to leave right now was a blood trail.

" _I'd say we'd catch him in his car,"_ Jester hissed, fingers twitching against his knife, " _That'll teach him a lesson."_

" _I'm afraid that'll have to be postponed, Jester,"_ Blade cut in, " _First we have to focus on getting out of here."_

Jester whipped to him, anger in his eyes. " _But-!"_

" _Jester, believe me, I want nothing more than to pluck his eyes out,"_ he explained, " _But at this time, there's too much risk involved. You understand that, right?"_

Jester clenched his fists, before he let his shoulders droop unhappily. " _Okay."_

" _Okay."_

"Well, I'm going to get going, Granddad," 'Isaac' said, "Have a good day."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," the old man muttered.

Blade turned back to the scene. Isaac walked out the kitchen and disappeared from view, the sound of his footsteps on the hardwood growing lighter and lighter, until they ceased with the sound of the front door closing. He turned his gaze back to the old man, who sat at the table, sipping on his coffee while he read the newspaper.

It should've been open and closed book: wait for him to get out of the kitchen, pop open the air vent, make their way to the front, get the front door open, and get out. Easy as pie.

Though, when ten minutes seemed to pass by, and the old man was still at his place at the table, Blade realized the biggest difficulty was trying not to die of pure boredom. He let loose a groan; he spared a look with Pinhead, who tapped his large fingers against the side of the vent impatiently.

The old man suddenly stopped. He lifted his head.

 _Oh, come on already!_ Blade thought to himself.

As if their prayers were finally answered, though, the old man soon stood up, tucking the newspaper under his arm and, to Blade's utter relief, walking out of sight. They kept still for a few more minutes, listening to hear how far his his footsteps had traveled.

Five minutes passed. Then ten.

Silence.

Blade let his shoulders drop, breathing a sigh of relief. Another ten minutes of having to wait and watch the old geezer eat toast and he probably would have dismembered himself. He gave a nod to Pinhead. " _I think you know what to do from here."_

" _You got it,"_ Pinhead replied with a smirk as he laced his fingers, fake cracking them before he bent down, gripping the bars that ran across the vent; with a grunt and some pull, he easily dislodged the filter, the sound of broken screws clacking on the floor below. He put it to the side and knelt down, lowering his head into the large hole. A minute afterward, he came back up, a triumphant grin on his ace as he gave Blade and Jester a thumbs up.

" _Looks like the coast is clear,"_ he said.

" _Thank god,"_ Blade commented, turning around and motioning for the others to join them.

It was a tad difficult figuring out exactly how to get onto the floor without breaking a few limbs; in the end, they had to resort basically making themselves into a live rope, Six Shooter hanging off of the ledge of the vent while his lower arms clung to Tunneler, whose feet interlocked with Torch's, who held the arms of Tunneler, and so on, with Pinhead making up the base of their little ladder, catching the others as they let go and helping to lower them onto the hardwood table.

Blade looked around; it looked like a relatively old house, nice and cozy with out of date patterned wallpaper, wooden draws, and a granite countertop. The table they were standing on was worn and scratched in several places, the matching chairs in a similar state with stuffing poking out of their cushions. The refrigerator and dishwasher looked relatively new, though. There were dozens of pictures and cards and whatnot stuck to the fridge with magnets. The whole thing gave off of a vintage, nostalgic air.

" _Okay,"_ Six clapped his hands together, " _Who can lead me to the nearest exit here?"_

" _Let's just get going,"_ Blade said as he jumped down onto one of the chairs, " _The sooner we can get out of this place, the better._ _"_

He looked around, " _What about that window over there? If we get that open, we should be able to make it into the yard and be home free."_

Maneuvering a chair over to the sink so that its back rested against the cupboard underneath it, they climbed onto the counter, examining the windowsill that was currently covered with curtains.

" _What do you think, Pin? Think you can get it open?"_ Six asked, crossing his arms.

Pinhead stood on his toes, reaching the latch that locked the window and undoing it. He put his hands at the top where a little bit of the frame stood out, grunting as he tried to push on it.

" _It should be possible,"_ he said between sounds of trying to get it open, " _But this thing's really not wanting to budge. Like it hasn't been opened in years."_

Torch and Six both walked over to help them, the two of them squatting to try and help lift the window up from its bottom. The others stood on the counter, watching. Tunneler looked over his shoulder, eyeing the area outside of the kitchen sternly.

" _I have a bad feeling about this,"_ he commented, " _This feels...too easy. Like something's about to pop out at any moment."_

From behind him, Pinhead made a noise in the back of his throat as they finally managed to crack the window open, the latter squeaking as they nudged it up the frame, as if protesting being moved from its previous position.

Leech Woman crossed her arms, rubbing them as she tapped her foot impatiently. Jester shuffled on his feet, growing restless at being able to do nothing more than just wait. They were all tired, and all just wanted to go back to the Master's nice room, with his lovely dolls and just rest. Maybe have a few choice words about the man he had to call a stepfather, but they'd worry about that later...

All of a sudden, Decapitron's head twisted around, and he tugged at Blade's sleeve, pointing something at the opposite end of the kitchen. Blade looked at him, surprised (he had almost forgotten Decapitron was even there, the puppet was so quiet).

" _What is-"_

He looked to see where Decapitron was pointing.

His heart sank instantly when he realized there was a shadow, steadily increasing in size as it approached the kitchen.

" _Shit!"_ he hissed, whipping around to Pinhead, " _Pin, hurry! He's coming back!"_

" _I'm trying, I'm trying! It won't budge!"_ Pinhead called out, stressing his arms as him, Torch, and Six shoved all their weight under the window, but still, it moved only a few centimeters.

" _Come on, come on, come on!"_ Six Shooter muttered to himself as he threw all his weight into his arms, to no avail.

"-I swear, I find one more of that boy's stupid rocks, I'm going to clean out his whole room," the old man's voice grumbled from the other room, increasing in volume as he neared the kitchen.

The others scrambled to the window, intent on getting it open enough by any means possible. Doing so felt like pushing a dumbbell uphill, the window stubbornly refusing to move any faster. They screeched and groaned desperately as they all tried to get it open.

He had no heart in his wooden chest, but Blade swore he could feel one pounding all the same, the feeling increasing as he heard footsteps approach the kitchen.

Finally, the window gave way enough that they all could leap through. It seemed like the perfect opportunity to escape, until-

" _Shit, there's a screen on the other side!"_ Tunneler exclaimed as he fell forward, his hand meeting the meshy material.

" _Goddammit,"_ Blade swore. The thick material would make cutting it open a pain in the ass, and he would need time that they simply did not have right now.

The sound of footfalls grew stronger.

" _Everybody, HIDE!"_ Blade suddenly ordered, whipping around at each of them before darting off.

They instantly ran for any shelter, jumping off the counter and hiding behind any corner or under any shadow that provided even the slightest bit of shelter. Leech and Decapitron slid into the small crack of space between the counter and fridge, while Six and Torch tried their best to crouch behind the trash can. Jester lifted the lid of the bread box and jumped in and Pinhead tried his best to fit into the drawer under the oven that housed the baking sheets. Tunneler and Blade made a dive for the toaster oven, hiding on the opposite side. They stood with their backs to it, staring straight at the wall, neither of them moving an inch.

The footsteps were clear now, making it obvious that the old man had returned to the kitchen. He said nothing.

"Hmmm?" he then hummed to himself. A second later, Blade heard wood scraping across the floor, an indication he had moved the chair back under the table. To his disappointment, it was also accompanied by the sound of the old man grunting, followed by a small slam and and the sound of something locking into place- he had relocked the window.

 _Dammit, why is this so hard?_ Blade thought to himself.

It really should have been child's play- the man was an old fart, he most likely had crap hearing and seeing and shouldn't have been able to move no more than the average speed of a turtle. With those considered, it should've just been a five minute process of get through the vent, get through the room, get out. The man wouldn't be able to see or hear them all that well, and if he suspected something, they should have been able to be long gone before he even managed to make it two feet to the source. Or, at least be thought. It was frustrating.

He shared a look with Tunneler before, ever so slightly, he moved his knife against the side of the toaster, holding it out.

He tilted it slightly, getting the old man's face reflected into the flat side of the knife.

From what he could see, the old man was just standing there. Looking around with a look on his face that Blade couldn't quite figure out what it was. As Blade watched, he turned this way and that, as if looking for something.

Blade silently seethed. _Dammit, get out of here!_

Something silver caught his eye, and he looked to see Six Shooter barely coming out from behind the trash can. He caught Blade's eye, and put a hand on one of his holsters, a questioning look in his eye.

Blade shook his head. A distraction would be good, but they needed to be farther distance if they were to keep attention away from themselves.

He held his knife out. Luckily, this time he found he was watching the old man's back, the latter shaking his head before leaving the kitchen without a word. They waited several seconds in the tense silence, listening for any sign he might be back.

Him and Tunneler breathed a sigh of relief. That was far, far too close. Slowly inching their way out from behind the toaster, they looked and saw the others hesitantly coming out of their hiding spots, ready to bolt right back if the old man appeared in the doorway a third time.

When it seemed he was gone for good, they leaped onto the floor, darting from the kitchen, their plans of going through the window having been all but aborted. When they got to the doorway, Blade motioned for all of them to stop.

Putting his back to the wall, he slowly peaked his head around the corner. The old man was at the end of the hall, near what looked like a study. There was a shelf against the wall, decorated with picture frames. The old man's back was turned to them, his head bowed. Blade looked at the other end of the hall. The other end led to what he guessed was the living room.

And off to the left, several feet in, was the front door.

If they kept out of sight and didn't make a sound, they should be able to get to it within ten minutes or so.

Taking a step into the hallway, he motioned for the others to follow, crouching as he ran, running across the hallway and stopping behind a vase that he and the others huddled behind as they watched the senior citizen for any sign they had been given away.

Nothing. He just kept doing...whatever he was doing.

Looking for the next hiding spot- an old white heater- they ran single file, trying not to bump into each other. Blade peaked out again, watching the old man.

The latter, who seemed to have been reading a book, closed it and set it on the dresser in front of him. Blade darted back into his hiding space as he turned around, leaning forward just enough that he could see in his peripheral.

The old man sighed, twisting his waist like he was trying to crack his back, before he disappeared into the study.

Excellent. He waited several seconds, trying to listen for any sign the man was going to step back out.

After what felt like a minute with no giveaway, Blade turned to the rest of them, gesturing to the living room area. They spared it a quick look before turning their gazes back him, nodding in agreement.

This time, they would make a break for it. No stopping, no hiding, nothing. This was their only chance, and the longer they stayed in this house, the more likely it seemed they might not make it out.

Blade turned towards the living room, crouching again. He felt Jester's hand on his back, a sign that he was ready to follow close behind as soon as his leader said the word.

The hat-wearing puppet braced himself. _You can do this, Blade. It's just like that time at the hotel, when you went to tell Father. Just keep looking forward and don't spare even one glance backward._

He crouched low to the floor, gathering up his momentum.

A second later, he darted, the muffled footsteps of the others following ringing in his ears. Blade pumped his feet, head bowed as he looked at the front door, his arms going back and forth as they made a run for it. The distance between the heater and the opening to the living room was still great, but he tried to focus that thought out of his mind as it closed. The wall of the living room was getting nearer. The door almost grew in size as they approached the living room. Was it possible? Yes! It was! They were almost there! Almost home free! Almost back to the master!

Getting to the doorway of the living room, Blade felt a flutter of excitement in his chest, something akin to what felt like an adrenaline rush flow through him as he got nearer to the entrance to the living room. Yes! Almost! Just a few more feet. Just a few more. Just-

He made it through the doorway of the living room, Jester and Pinhead following close behind him. Crossing the threshold, the shag carpet felt firm under his feet-

-He barely registered the brown object in his peripheral, before he suddenly found himself thrown to the side, bouncing around on the carpet.

"GOTCHA!"

" _Blade!"_ Jester called; he felt Pinhead grab onto the his shirt to stop him from going any further, yanking him back a few inches. Jester saw brown loafers off to the side and looked up, his face spinning in surprise.

The old man stood there, a broom in his hands as he glared down at the puppets, a triumphant smirk on his face.

"I thought there was someone worming their way around in my kitchen!" he pointed the broom at them menacingly, "Don't think these old bones don't still get an alert when something's about! You can't take down this old vet that easy!"

The puppets looked at him, shell-shocked. How did he even...

They didn't have time to ponder over it, however, before the old man lifted the broom over his shoulder, before swinging it like a baseball bat. The puppets let loose a shout as they ran to escape it, though not before it managed to catch Torch right in the stomach, sending him flying into the wall near the TV.

" _Torch!"_

"Run all you want! It won't help you none!" the old man proclaimed as his eyes scanned the floor. They locked onto Jester, and he swung.

Jester looked up, letting out a yelp of surprise as he dove onto his stomach, barely missing being hit by the bristles. He looked to see the broom raised again, and rolled out of the way just in time as the broom smacked the carpet where he had just been laying. His feet pounded on the floor as he made a beeline for the coffee table.

" _This old dirty bastard's fucking insane!"_ Six Shooter exclaimed as he and Tunneler army crawled under the couch. He looked out to see as the others made a scram for cover.

Blade, slightly dazed from where he had hit the wall, sat up, holding his hook to his head. Someone roughly grabbed him under the shoulders and yanked him to his feet. He looked to see Pinhead grabing his arm; Blade looked to see the old man swinging this way and that, trying to get his best shot as the others tried to take cover. His head shot to where the two stood, his cold eyes widening in malicious excitement as he held the broom up again. The two puppets bolted from their position, darting left to ride to try and avoid the household object-turned-weapon as they got onto their stomachs and crawled under the loveseat.

Mr. Frost sneered as he looked around his living room, the puppets now all out of sight. They were hiding, trying to keep from getting turned into scrap from his trusty broom.

Not to worry. He had inspected every nook and cranny of this house, years of playing hide and seek with his kids, then with Isaac and the rest of the grandchildren when they were young making him know every possible hiding place like the back of his hand.

"Hide all you like, little soldiers, I've lived in this house far longer than you have. I know every possible crawlspace, squeeze room, and shadow there is to find," he said as he slowly walked through the room, "I'll admit, I was a little surprised to entertain the thought. But I guess I really have been underestimating the boy in just what he's into. Witchcraft, are you? Or some science fiction? Don't know, don't care."

Leech Woman peaked out from the old angel statue she was hiding behind, glaring at him as he slowly approached the couch. She had managed to get into the glass case that was attached to the TV stand and hide behind several of the antiques that were on display inside. She looked to where he was going, able to see just Six Shooter and Tunneler's hands from under the fabric.

Her hands gripped the angel's arms. The geezer may be old, but he quickly proved he was not a force to be reckoned with. If he got to them, there was no telling what else he had up his sleeve. She tried to think of a plan. And fast.

Mr. Frost looked at the couch, a dark smile coming onto his face. He flipped his broom over, the head facing the direction of the couch. Lightly bending down- grimacing slightly at the strain it put on his knees- he lowered his broom to the ground. As fast as he could, then, he shoved the broom under the couch and dragged it along the side, snickering in delight when he heard two small voices hiss in surprise, feeling the broom hit something blunt that seemed to move on it.

"I knew it! Come out and face me like men, you cowards!" he called out, standing up straight as he watched two puppets- one a cowboy with two extra pairs of arms and the other with a weird drill on its head- scramble out from under the couch.

"Come on, come to Papa!" he yelled as he raised the broom, trying to crush them; he cursed his old legs as they easily moved out of the way, scurrying like mice behind more furniture.

He heard movement behind him and turned around, though all he saw was a bottle on the coffee table lightly wiggling back and forth. He frowned.

"If you think you're gonna jump and try and scare me into a heart attack, you can think again," Mr. Frost said, "Ain't nobody been able to scare me since 'Nam."

Raising the broom up, he scanned the living room again, eyes landing on the coffee table. He snorted when he saw a tiny pair of golden, glittery boots sticking out from under the little ledge. It was almost sad. No worries.

He turned the broom over in his hands as he approached so that the handle was near his head. He then adjusted it so it was pointing near the boots' direction, planning on shoving it into the little puppet for a little bit of extra kick. He stood, bent over and ready to strike.

Before he could though, there was a twinkle of something in his peripheral, and he twisted out of the way just in time as a porcelain plate sailed past his head, shattering against the wall. Mr. Frost looked to the mess, before he whipped around to see who had done such a thing to his fine china.

Pinhead stood on top of the loveseat, an ornate vase in his hands. He held it above his head in a threatening manner, as if daring Mr. Frost to try again.

"Oh, we got a tough guy here, do we?" he said with a bit of a chuckle, raising the broom in a bat position once again, "Well, bring it on! Show me what you got!"

Pinhead threw the vase. Mr. Frost swung the broom, the vase instantly breaking in half as it met the broom. Taking his chance, Mr. Frost swung again, aiming for knocking Pinhead right off the loveseat. The tiny headed puppet was not to be scared so easily, though, as he reached up and grabbed hold of the broom, trying to rip it from the old veteran's hands. A look of shock came across Mr. Frost's face- obviously not expecting the great amount of strength from the tiny being- before it was quickly replaced with determination as he tried to wrestle it out of Pinhead's hands.

"Get off...little...bastard," he muttered as the two engaged in a tug of war. Pinhead grunted, keeping an iron grip on the head of the broom.

Suddenly, Mr. Frost's mouth went in a straight line, and he suddenly launched forward, no longer yanking the broom but now shoving it towards Pinhead. It was obvious Pinhead didn't expect this action, and he let loose a yell as he stumbled on the love seat, letting loose a small cry as he fell off the back.

Mr. Frost grinned. Still had a full fighting spirit in him, after all these years.

"Now, for that little funny guy-GAH!" he exclaimed.

As he turned around to head back to the coffee table, there was suddenly a sharp, stinging pain in his leg as something sliced at his ankle. He looked down in surprise to see Blade staring up at him, mouth open in a hiss as he held up a blood stained knife.

Mr. Frost kicked him away, gritting his teeth against the pain. "So you want to play dirty now, dontcha? Then bring it on!"

He picked up one of the knick knacks resting on the coffee able, catching sight of Tunneler making his way to the bookshelf, and as best as he could, threw it in his direction. Tunneler ducked as it smashed against the wall above him, raising his hands over his head to avoid the sharp debris. Mr. Frost, undeterred, picked up another one, this time catching Jester crawling out from under the table and making a break for the doorway. The old astrology-themed clock sailed through the air, managing to get the harlequin puppet in the back, and Mr. Frost heard a squeal from him as he was knocked right onto his stomach.

Picking up another, Mr. Frost announced around the room, "I don't care if I have to break every single one of these, I'll turn this whole house upside down if it means getting rid of each and every one of you!"

 _ **BANG!**_

Mr. Frost yelped in surprise, crouching as the decorative plate in his hand shattered right then and there. Staring alarmed at the remains, he turned around. Six Shooter stood on one of the shelves, mouth covered as he held out one of his arms, his pistol tight in his grip. Smoke rose from the end.

Mr. Frost let his hand drop, meeting the cowboy puppet's large eyes as he lowered his head, a small growl coming from it. He lifted the broom back up, the end hanging off the end of his shoulder.

Six Shooter fired again, and Mr. Frost jumped, letting out a yell as the bullet nicked his ear, blood splurting out of the wound. He doubled over, a hand shooting to his ear, blood leaking out between his fingers.

The other puppets started emerging out of their hiding places, each approaching the old man with caution, though with a newfound aggression in all of them. Mr. Frost took his hand away, looking at the bright red blood that coated his palm. Chest heaving, he stared at all of them.

"So, what're you gonna do?" he asked, "Gonna all gang up on an old man? Would that make you all feel better?"

He held his arms out. "Well, what are you waiting for?! I'm right here, come and get me!"

They stared at him, shocked at his nonchalant attitude at fighting them. Blade and Leech shared a look. Was this guy mental or what?!

A large snarling sound from behind Mr. Frost prompted all of them to look over his shoulder. He turned.

A very angry looking Torch stood on the table under the window, his eyes blazing like a police siren as he lifted his flamethrower hand at his attacker. His jaw was wide open, bullet teeth glinting in the light like he wanted to just chomp right down on the old man's neck.

"Oh, you want to go one on one, do you?" Mr. Frost questioned, "Well, go on. What are you waiting for?!"

Torch let loose a growl, before he lit up his flamethrower, a bright cloud of orange and yellow shooting towards the mouthy man.

Mr. Frost put both his hands up, a "whoah!"of shock escaping him as he jumped back from the flames. He stumbled backward as Torch continued to unleash a stream of fire, attempting to try and ignite the bastard. He stumbled along the wall, backing away from the blaze. Torch tried to follow him, though with a scream of frustration, he realized that he was far away enough that Torch's flame just barely touched him.

" _Torch, stop!"_ Jester shouted, " _You're gonna hurt Six!"_

Murder in his eyes, Torch snarled at him, but lowered his hand nonetheless. When the immense heat vanished, Mr. Frost stared over his sleeve at the puppet, waiting for the next attack. Torch growled at him, but stayed where he was.

"Ah, full of surprises, you are," Mr. Frost remarked. Blade could see from his position his face was bright red- no doubt first or second degree burns.

"You think you're all powerful, don't you?" he continued, keeping his eyes on Torch, "What are you gonna do? Kill me and go join that little brat back at his crazy house. Well, good luck, I say. Because if I go down, I'm taking you hellspawn with me! You hear that! Nobody's gonna-"

He suddenly stopped, a little grunt escaping his chest as his face suddenly twisted up. The puppets froze, surprised by the sudden change in emotion. They watched as Mr. Frost suddenly grasped a hand to his chest, gritting his teeth as a look of pain washed over his previously aggressive expression.

They all jumped back as he suddenly started to stumble towards them, still grasping his chest tightly; he was starting to sound like he couldn't breathe.

Blade and Tunneler shared a dumbfounded look. A heart attack?

No matter. Blade snapped out of it as he suddenly turned towards the doorway, bolting from his position. _"Everyone, get going! We'll get out of here while he's down!"_

" _Shouldn't we help?"_ Jester quizzed as he got up from the floor.

Watching the old man stagger with his hands clutched in his sweater caused a stab of pity to go through him. Sure, the guy was a crazy son of a bitch and spared no mind throwing house décor at them or hitting them with a cleaning object, but it still didn't seem right to just let him suffer like that.

Torch, getting down from the table, gave him a look. " _Are you serious? He was just trying to kill us a moment ago!"_

" _I know, but.."_

" _Worry about your guilt later, Jester,"_ Blade snapped, " _Right now we have to get out of-"_

 _ **BANG!**_

Something whizzed past him, knocking his hat off as everyone else squealed in surprise. Blade whipped back around to see Mr. Frost leaning against the bookshelf, looking over his shoulder as he stood with his back still to them.

Only this time, a shining silver revolver rested in his hands.

"I told you: I'm not going down without taking you all with me!" he proclaimed, a murderous glint in his eyes.

Blade ducked as he shot again, making a run for the doorway. The others abandoned their outposts and joined him, trying to avoid the gunshots that blasted holes in the walls next to them.

" _What do we do? What do we do?!"_ Jester asked desperately as he tried to keep up.

" _Run, of course!"_ Pinhead yelled, " _He's hurt! He can't get very far no-"_

 _ **BANG!**_

Pinhead suddenly cut himself off, a choked gasp only coming from him as he stopped running.

A trickle of dread went through Blade's chest as he stopped, whipping around.

" _PINHEAD!"_ Leech Woman screamed as the bulky figured puppet collapsed against the wall, reeling in pain at the quarter sized hole that now marked his sweater. Green fluid leaked between his fingers as he cradled his arm against his chest, splinters of wood clinging to the fabric.

Blade's jaw dropped open.

He shot his head up at Mr. Frost, who held the gun up triumphantly.

" _Bastard!"_ Six Shooter proclaimed, yanking all his guns out of their holsters and firing back.

Somehow, Mr. Frost managed to dodge all of them, taking up his broom again and shooting it at the cowboy like a javelin. Six let out an 'oomph' as he got a face full of bristles.

"Is that all you got?!" he teased, "Come on! Hit me with-AAAAAH!"

He let loose a scream of pain as something dug into the back of his kneecap. Tunneler, head bowed like an angry bull charging a matador, shoved his drill further into the old man's leg, the top of his head screeching as bone cracked; he seemed intent on driving his drill all the way through the old man's leg.

Yelling out, Mr. Frost looked down, turning around and kicking the uniform-clad puppet away. Tunneler flew back, hitting the side of the couch. He aimed his gun at him.

"You're gonna have to do better than that!" he yelled, hand closing on the trigger.

Blade charged towards him, ready to gut the veteran. He could hear Jester yelling behind him. If he wasn't fast enough, Tunneler was a goner.

No. He would not relive that moment; he was not going to lose his friend again.

He got within three feet of Mr. Frost; the man clocked the hammer back. Two feet. Tunneler struggled to get up, still dazed from hitting the back of his head against the sofa.

One-

" _Stop,"_ a voice said.

Mr. Frost turned, caught off guard by the mysterious voice. The puppets seemed just as surprised, turning towards the bookshelf.

Decapitron stood at the top, feet spread apart, hands at his side as he held something against his hip.

Blade's eyes widened in surprise when he realized he recognized what the puppet in the leather jacket was wearing.

Mr. Frost, however, didn't seem to be the least bit taken aback, giving a scoff of disbelief.

"Oh, now _you_ want to join in, do you?" he said arrogantly as he turned and aimed the revolver at Decapitron.

The latter didn't flinch, standing as still as a statue as he he looked down the barrel, eyeless sockets meeting Mr. Frost's.

He reached up, and to the grandfather's surprise, began unscrewing his head from his body. He gave a look to disbelief to Blade.

"What is this? Another one of your tricks? Ooooh, I'm so scared," he mocked as Decapitron, calm as could be, lifted his head off, placing it beside at his feet. He took the second object- a weird helmet like apparatus that had what looked like two pistols on either side, a visor-like screen, and a giant orb surrounded by little poles- and began placing it on his neck.

"You're gonna have to do better than that, my friend," Mr. Frost remarked as he took aim, cocking the hammer back again and beginning to squeeze the trigger.

Sparks of blue electricity flashed around Decapitron's new head.

Blade looked away, finding himself unable to watch what came next. He almost felt sorry for the poor bastard- he would never know what hit him.

Before Mr. Frost could fully squeeze the trigger, his eyes suddenly seared in pain as a bright flash of bluish-white light exploded before him.

His body suddenly stiffened up as a major shock traveled up and down, causing a wave of absolute agony to erupt in his bones. He made a surprised sound in the back of his throat, convulsions over taking him as vines of electricity shot from Decapitron's head, surrounding his entire body. His mouth fell open, pain exploding all over every inch of him. His eyes widened, and his hands convulsed as he dropped his pistol. He started foaming at the mouth. He shook as if he were having a seizure, making indescribable sounds at the back of his throat.

Decapitron, however, still stood in the same position, not even moving an inch.

Mr. Frost's eyes started to roll in the back of his head. He swore, dimly, he could smell his flesh burning. Underneath his clothes, ripples of red marks that looked like DNA structures spread out on his liver-spotted skin as the electricity rippled over his flesh.

Suddenly, it all stopped.

Decapitron stood up straighter.

Nobody moved as the bright flashes of lightning disappeared just as quickly as they reappeared.

Blade felt a tiny bit of pity go through him, shaking his head as a small 'tsk' left his lips. The son of a bitch was so sure he would win this fight.

Mr. Frost's body slumped against the wall, before falling onto his side. His eyes and mouth were open in a permanent expression of surprise. His ear and the back of his knee still bled, staining his sweater and trousers. There were now some blackened patches on his face and his hand, the skin starting to peel, exposing the damaged veins and bright pink inner dermal layer underneath. Foam saliva leaked out of the corner of his mouth. His broom smoked.

Blade looked up at Decapitron. The latter simply gave him a nod, gathering up his regular head and climbing down the bookshelf.

" _Blade, Pinhead's hurt,"_ Leech Woman's frantic voice broke him out of his thoughts. Forgetting about the fresh corpse in front of him, he turned to his friend, the others gathering around him as Pinhead held his arm tightly.

" _Is it bad?"_ Blade asked.

Pinhead gave him a half-smile. " _It took off a chunk, but luckily it didn't go straight through. But I may need the Master's help."_

He moved the hole in his sweater so that Blade could survey the damage. Blade grimaced; like Pinhead said, there luckily wasn't a complete break in his arm; however, his arm was still cracked and splinter, and some of the formula started to steadily drip out.

He only hoped the Master could fix it.

They jumped as a sudden rapping at the door echoed through the house.

" _Arthur?"_ An old woman's voice called out, " _Is everything okay in there? I thought I heard gunshots!"_

Swearing, Blade looked around, his eyes catching on what looked like another door leading from the kitchen. A garage, perhaps.

" _Come on," he told the others, "We need to get out of here."_


	38. Permanent Stains

**Chapter XXXVII: Permanent Stains**

They think I can't hear them. They think if they whisper that I won't, but they're doing it in that really obnoxious way that's still loud so it makes you wonder why they're even bothering. I try to ignore it, try to focus on the study guide the teacher gave me, but they keep buzzing behind me like insects, and any info on isotopes and chemical formulas quickly become forgotten as I grip my pencil to keep from snapping. Doing so sends a slight pain through my hand- my wrist is almost completely healed up and now I'm only required to wear a brace, but there's still some pain when I stress the muscle too much.

I frown, looking down at my arm.

I don't even know why I even bother coming to school anymore; it's not like anyone wants me here, and I for sure would rather be anywhere else than this pisshole, Paul's threats be damned. Even if I haven't since been labeled public enemy number one by all those who think I killed Kailani- and are now convinced I somehow had something to do with Sadie, Holden, and Tony- I know for a fact that my grades are completely in the shitter and that it'll take a miracle to get them up enough that Rog will let me walk. Not that I really care.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I pull it out to see a text from Mom.

 _Change of plans. I'll be there to sign for the package, so all you have to do is drop the mail off_

I frown, typing back. _Don't you have a gallery today?_

 _Had to leave early. Josie needed to be picked up_ , her response comes a few seconds later.

My brow furrows, a small jolt of concern starting up in my chest. _Is she okay?_

 _She had an accident at school. Poor thing, I think it may have to do with Mr. Frost. You know she adored him,_ Mom explains.

I grimace at that. It's been a week since we got the news, but it still feels...surreal. Like, Mr. Frost was old and probably was going to die in the near future anyway, but we never thought now. Not like that.

Especially not like that.

Something tickles at the back of my mind, and I think back to when I found out. Mom and I had just come back from my doctor's appointment...

 _The puppets are huddled together when I get home that afternoon, like they're involved in some sort of secret meeting._

" _Hey, guys," I say as I toss my bag near the desk, "What's up?"_

 _Their heads shoot in my direction. They keep huddled together, looking up at me like I'm going to burst into flames at any moment or something. I pause, immediately sensing something's wrong._

" _What's wrong? Why are you all right next to each other like you're trying to fuse together?" I ask, putting the soda I bought on the desk. They don't answer- they won't even look at me._

 _Uh, oh. That's never a good sign._

 _I run a hand through my hair, preparing for the worst. "…What did you do?"_

 _They look away._

" _What," I repeat, in the best stern voice I can must, "happened?"_

 _They slowly look up at me with guilt written all over their faces, before they slowly separate and part like the red sea, revealing that they've all gathered around Pinhead for some reason. He slowly inches forward, looking like a man at the gallows, gripping his arm tightly._

 _I tilt my head in confusion, about to ask, when I look down and really get a good look at his arm._

" _Pin, what did you do?!" I quiz as I rush over to them, ripping his arm away to get a good look at the damage. There's a giant hole in his sleeve, a perfect circle burned into the fabric. Under that his arm is splintered, cracks running all down the side. Dread fills my throat when I see there's some sort of metal tube underneath it that's exposed, the surface broken, with a little tiny hole in it. I bite my lip when I see that there's been a little wad of cotton stuffed into the hole, though there are deep, soaked splotches of apple green covering it._

 _He won't answer me, suddenly finding the carpet a much more interesting subject._

" _Shit," I whisper. If he's leaking formula, he's on a much quicker clock now to get a refill. Of which I have zero of left._

 _The others are looking at me, desperation on their faces; like they're begging me to tell them that it's okay, that Pinhead will be fixed right up. All it does it make me feel even more guilty and useless. I've fixed broken dolls before, but those prior experiences were just a squeeze of glue and fitting a limb back into place properly._

 _This, however, looks like it might as well be open heart surgery._

" _Okay, okay,_ okay," _I say when their hissing grows to levels of Mom possibly hearing, "Everyone calm down. I…should be able to fix this._

" _Just need a little cap," I turn to my desk and open a drawer, fiddling through bags of unused ribbon wheels and hand molds before I finally find what I'm looking for._

 _The broken piece of ceramic is stubborn, but after a few minutes of rearranging, squeezing, and nearly breaking the rest of Pinhead's arm as I jam it in, it, for the most part, fits perfectly well in the hole. There's still little cracks that don't quite seal it, so I try using the glue to try and do an amateur job of caulking the spaces. After a few minutes of air-flapping it dry, I finally tie a stray piece of string around it for a makeshift bandage._

 _I sit back, looking over my work. "Okay, that should be it. You think you can move it?"_

 _It all looks like some second grader's broken science project, but when Pinhead is able to move his joints and flex his fingers without seemingly any issue, that's fine enough by me._

" _Good," I say as I pull at his sleeve, looking back over the hole, "And this should be able to be sewed up without a problem. Though, the question remains, just_ how _the hell did you manage to do this?"_

 _He looks at me like I've just revealed his deepest, darkest secret. I just raise my brows at him, patiently waiting for an answer. He fiddles around, before Six hesitantly raises his hand, gesturing to his gun._

" _You did this?" I ask. He gives a curt nod. My mouth falls open in surprise._

" _Why on Earth were you shooting your guns off in the house?! At Pinhead, of all people?!" I exclaim, "What if someone heard you?! What if this was worse?! I'm not exactly skilled in this level of intricacy, you know!"_

 _He looks away, grumbling to himself. It seems like it's supposed to be sincere enough of an apology, so I let the slight show of attitude go. I blow out a breath, picking up Pinhead and carrying him over to the desk. I reach down and pull out my sewing kit._

" _I hope you all learned a valuable lesson from this, then," I say as I thread a needle, "Even if you were just horsing around, people can still get hurt. Which is why you need to remember where you-"_

 _There's a sudden knocking at my door, and I push Pinhead onto his back just in time as Paul throws it open._

" _There's something I need to talk to you about," he says, a grim tone in his voice._

 _I let out a breath. Probably something else to bother me about. I turn in my chair. "What is it?"_

 _Paul lets out a breath himself, and when he looks up at me, there's something grim in his eyes. His mouth is set in a flat line, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down like he can't quite swallow correctly. He knuckles turn white from grasping the door handle so hard. He shuts the door behind him, leaning across it as he folds his arms._

" _Your and mother and I…we just got word from Isaac about ten minutes ago," he says slowly, like he can't quite believe it himself._

 _There's a slight reminder in my mind that Isaac was supposed to be watching Josie today. Anxiety instantly settles in my chest, and I sit up straighter._

" _W-w-what about him?" I ask, "I-Is it Josie? Is she okay?"_

 _Paul makes a gesture for me to calm down, "Your sister and him are fine. It's just…"_

 _He sighs, and for a moment it amazes me how much older it makes him look. He looks me straight in the eye._

" _Isaac's grandfather died."_

 _It catches me off guard. I blink._

"… _O-oh," is all I can say._

 _I've never been good with knowing what to say when things go wrong. "Was it…did he…does Josie know?"_

 _Paul's face grows dark, his eyes growing more serious._

" _Not yet. And that's why I came to talk to you," he says, coming closer, his voice lowering in volume, "It's important that nothing I tell you ever gets back to her. You know how much she loved Mr. Frost; I don't want her to somehow hear a single word of this. She doesn't need to be thinking about that when she's already lost another person close to her."_

" _P-Paul you're scaring me," I say, backing up lowly._

" _Isaac says…" he sighs, "The police are involved. They're suspecting foul play was at hand."_

 _I pause. What? That…that can't be right. That…that has to be a mistake; it has to be. Mr. Frost was old. He had numerous health problems; it wouldn't really be a surprise if he kicked the bucket now. Maybe a stroke, or a heart attack, or just natural causes. But what Paul is suggesting…_

" _Are…" I stammer, "A-Are you saying…they think someone…_ killed _Mr. Frost?"_

 _Paul shakes his head, "I don't know what the hell I can say. All that Isaac told us was that he got a phone call from the sheriff's office- they said the neighbors were complaining of hearing things breaking, even hearing what sounded like shots being fired- and that they needed him to come down immediately. He didn't go into much detail…you know, since he's still trying to get it through his head and all that."_

 _He looks up to me, "Which is why I was hoping you would be there to maybe help break-"_

 _He looks down at the desk, and instantly freezes. His eyes go wide like someone's who just seen the Devil, his face turning as white as a ghost._

 _I raise an eyebrow, looking to wear Pinhead is lying under my arm. He hasn't moved an inch, but Paul regards him with a look that would make you think we just opened the Dybbuk box. His eyes slowly side to the side, widen even further somehow; I peak over my shoulder to see the puppets strewn about on the bed. I look back at him. "What?"_

 _He stares at me with something that I can't quite place- Horror? Disgust? Fear, maybe?- and takes two steps back, like he's afraid I'll do something to him. Which makes me even more confused; I gesture with my hands, finding that I'm actually a bit irritated with this sudden display._

" _Paul? WHAT were you hoping for me to do?"_

 _He shakes his head, like he's suddenly been snapped out of this weird funk. He licks his lips and looks around, like he's suddenly afraid to look in my direction._

" _Um, uh, yeah," he stutters, "W-w-we thought it best if you were t-there with Josie w-w-when we broke the news. Since, you're, uh, um, who she looks up to a-a lot, you know?"_

 _I shake my head slowly, still confused by this change in mood. "Oh…okay. I can do that."_

" _Good!" Paul nods way too rapidly, "Good good! I'll just, uh, b-be on my, um, way, then."_

 _He does a one-eighty on his heel and all but bolts out of the room. I stare at the door, still bewildered by the way he acted. I look back to Pinhead, who's now sitting up._

" _What the hell was that about?"_

Mom sends me another text, asking me to try on my suit when I get home, if I still have it, to see if it still fits. I frown.

I hate funerals. The whole dressing up, staying silent for hours, constantly hearing the same thing over and over. It doesn't matter how sincere they try to be, a 'sorry' or a 'I'm always here' isn't enough, not when you lose someone you love. When Dad's funeral finally came about, I got so tired of hearing it all, especially when it came from people that I knew were the ones talking about the both of us behind ours backs. A few words or a casserole weren't going to bring Dad back, weren't going to make our lives better again, so what's even the point of talking?

And I don't even want to hear about the whole "paying your respects" thing- it's bullshit. I didn't like Mr. Frost- and I know for sure the old fart didn't find me very favorable either- so why the hell do I have to go? I certainly wouldn't want people I hated showing up at my funeral; honestly I feel like that in itself is just an insult beyond the grave.

The harsh, loud whispering of the students further back in the library buzzes in my ears like a swarm of cicadas, and I grit my teeth.

" _-hear he sacrifices animals-"_

" _-wonder if he has one with him now for the next time he gets angry?"_

I slam my book shut and shoot out from my chair. A sadistic wave of satisfaction settles in my chest when I hear both of the girls squeal in surprise, their chatter dying down. I hold back a dark smirk and just gather up my things, walking out of the library- I ignore the look of disdain the librarian gives me at the noise. I go down the hallway, having to resist the temptation to just walk right out of the door; I even have a thought of stopping by Hartwicke's Toys again, maybe pay Gabe and Hillary another visit.

"Gaelin, wait up!" Audrey's voice calls from behind.

I turn, seeing her running up, her platforms making extra loud slamming sounds on the tile. Her bangs bounce up and down as she gets up to me. I put my hands in my pockets.

"Oh…hey, Audrey," I say despondently.

"Hey!" she exclaims as she pants slightly, catching her breath, "I wanted to catch you before the day was over, since I haven't see you in class since you got back."

She says the last part while looking up at me, a slight hint of worry in her voice. I rub the back of my neck.

"Yeah, they decided having me out for two weeks wasn't enough and prescribed me solitary confinement," I joke, though I find no humor in it. One week of that small, cramped, hot room near the front office, with Mrs. Peterson staring over my shoulder constantly like a vulture while I caught up on schoolwork, the only sounds being the old clock on the wall and the constant nagging in my head- I swear I was about to completely lose it.

Audrey smiles in sympathy, reaching into her bag and digging around. She says, "I was wondering if you had your last few notes for the project? I'm almost completely done with the final draft, but I wanted to look over what we got to make sure I didn't miss anything."

Oh, yeah. The project. Another thing I have to add to my list of "Shit I Really Don't Want to Do/Be a Part Of." Honestly, if I were working solo, I probably wouldn't have even gotten a basic outline done. The only reason I still even gave a damn about it after these last few weeks is because my loathing for the class and this whole building entirely, it wouldn't be fair to drag Audrey down with me.

"Um, yeah, here," I respond, pulling out my class folder.

I hand it to her, looking at the ground. I feel her eyes linger on me a second more, before they slowly turn to the folder, pulling out what she needs.

A door to the art room opens, and two guys who obviously haven't had their balls drop yet walk out, their conversation cutting short the minute they lay eyes on the two of us. One of them, a ginger-haired guy who looks like a fifth grader with his baby face and small stature, stares at me like I'm an alien, his eyes wide as dinner plates. him and his friend slow down as they both stare at me. I grit my teeth as they keep their heads turned. What the hell am I, a zoo animal? Some sort of artifact on display for the whole world to see?

"Why don't you take a picture, it will last you longer?! " I bark at them when a whole two minutes goes by and they haven't moved.

Audrey looks up at me- she seems to not have noticed they have been here- and the freshmen make some sort of surprised squawking sound, lowering their heads as they run away, like I'm going to chase after them. I roll my eyes, muttering under my breath.

"Glad to know I'm so fucking popular all of a sudden," I hiss.

"They're just a bunch of stupid boys who want to leap for the latest gossip," Audrey tries to comfort, but it flies right over my head and grates on my gears. The floodgates are open, and everything comes pouring out.

"It's so fucking great to know that after almost two years of being ignored and walked on, everyone was just suddenly okay with putting me in the spotlight and blaming all this on me like they're suddenly fucking detectives," I continue to rant like I didn't even hear her, stomping down the hall to my locker, "I'm so _fucking_ sick of everyone ragging on me when I didn't do jack shit. Everyone's _always_ got to be in my goddamn business, all the fucking time!"

I shove my notebooks in and slam the locker shut. It makes a giant _BOOM!_ sound echo throughout the entire hall, the force hard enough to shake the other lockers.

Audrey goes wide eyed, and raises her hands in caution. She slowly says, "Gaelin, c-calm down. I get it, it sucks-"

"Oh, you do, do you?" I whirl around at her with a glare before I can shut my mouth, "Tell me, Audrey, have _you_ gotten death threats on your phone, threatening notes in your locker, or had your house egged? Did _you_ ever get beat within an inch of your life for something you didn't do or have your life threatened or have your shit broken for being different? Hmm?"

She looks away, a small blemish of pink dusting her pale cheeks. "Gaelin, I-I'm not trying to say I know what-"

"Of course you don't know, nobody knows," I remark. I turn towards the back doors, ready to bounce. Screw whatever hell I get at home, I don't have time for this.

"Gaelin!"

I ignore her, shoving the back doors open, the bright sunlight searing my eyes. Audrey calls after me again, and I hear her stomping on the tiles as she runs to keep up. The parking lot is silent, and I don't see the familiar neon yellow of the security guard in sight. Probably on his lunch break.

"Gaelin, wait!" she says, though I ignore her.

My vision is so clouded in red that I don't think, or care, about anything else. The words come spilling out before I have a chance to actually think about what I'm saying. Everything that's happened since this winter come swirling around in my head, buzzing in my skull like an angry hornet's nest that's just been kicked. It builds and builds and builds, prodding at me until everything comes bursting at the seams. At this moment, nothing else matters. Right now I hate everyone and everything.

"Would you wait a second, god!" Audrey exclaims as she catches up to me, grabbing my arm and turning me towards her. "Gaelin, just chill for a second!

"Okay?" she says, her words softer, "Just…calm down, okay?"

I look out towards the landscape, a sudden air of defeat settling over my shoulders. The red cloud of rage has gone away, and now I'm…done. Not angry, not sad, just done. My shoulders drop, and I slowly look at her.

"I…I just don't get it, Audrey," I say as I lower myself onto the pavement, sitting on the curb, "I…what did I ever do to deserve this?"

I hang my head, looking at the landscape. I see Audrey's shadow approach, see her boots sit down next to mine out of the corner of my eye. I look to the left to see her sitting down next to me, but she doesn't say anything. Just looks at me.

Not like anything she says will make it better.

Nothing will make it better.

* * *

I grimace as I look in the mirror. The tuxedo still fits me like a glove, even though I'm pretty sure I've lost a lot of weight; the smell of old cotton from it being stuffed into the back of my closet for the last year is a little unpleasant, but I'm sure plenty of cologne will mask it. Surprisingly, I actually look pretty damn good. That's not the problem.

The problem is knowing I'm going to have to wear it again for the same reason.

Mom's been having Isaac over the last few nights to help him figure out the funeral arrangements and overall try and comfort him in the wake of this whole mess. He looks like shit- the night we found out what happened, he was a blubbering mess, whatever he was saying barely legible over the amount of sobbing he was doing- and doesn't look like he's done much sleeping at all. Not that I can judge him; I was- still am- in the exact same place last year. It's just been awkward. I feel like I'm supposed to say something, do something to let him know I understand, but…I don't know. I guess I'm just not good at knowing what to say when it's needed.

Six Shooter nods his head at me as I examine myself in the mirror, giving three thumbs up. I give a small smile.

"Thanks, buddy," I say halfheartedly, "Even though having to wear this for its intended purpose is honestly the last thing I want to do."

Tunneler hisses in question. I sigh, looking back towards my reflection to adjust my collar.

"It's a funeral," I say, "Man, I can't still believe it. I mean, don't get me wrong, Mr. Frost was a dick, but…still. Can't believe the kind of person who would do something like that to someone."

He nods his head, fiddling with his hands. I take one last look, before I reach for my phone. The screen reads that it's 3:45. I better hurry before I get too late and they close and I walked all the way into town for nothing.

I undress and hang the suit back up in my closet, being careful as to not wrinkle it. Picking up my clothes from the floor, I pull out an extra backpack from under the bed, gesturing to the puppets to start piling into it. "Okay, come on, in you go."

They look at me in confusion.

"We're all gonna go on a little trip to the toy store for some extra parts," I explain, "With Pinhead's injury, since you guys are structured much more differently than what I'm used to, I'm going to need supplies in case it happens again. So, to make it easier on all of us, you're coming with me so I make sure I get…I don't know, the right materials and measurements and shit. Sound good?"

They don't look very happy with it, but begrudgingly follow in single file as they shuffle themselves inside. After making sure everyone's comfortable, I zip it up and pull it over my shoulders. I'm pulling on my shoes when my phone rings.

"Hello?"

" _Gaelin, thank God you picked up!"_ Carter says on the other end, sounding extremely relieved, " _We just had two people call out, and Grant finally fired Mason's ass yesterday, and Pamela isn't picking up her phone, so we're short staffed_ five _people as of tonight. Do you think you could come in at around four, maybe four-fifteen?"_

My heart drops slightly.

I haven't been to work in several days. And I really don't want to deal with rude customers and Grant's throbbing vein for four hours- hell, I can barely deal with people on the daily now- but at the same time, Carter sounds really desperate.

"I-I-I don't think-" I stutter.

" _Oh, Gaelin, PLEASE,"_ he begs, " _We have a party of twelve coming in, and I already have to take over for Raul, and Grant's breathing down my neck. I can't do this without you."_

I don't say anything. I feel guilty, but I already have plans. I don't want to put off getting to Hartwicke's Toys, and I doubt if I get off at regular time, that they'll still be open.

"I…I don't know…"

" _PLEASE, Gaelin, I need you,"_ Carter says, " _The only other ones working are Candace and Ryan, and you and I both know how they can't handle dishes to save their lives. You're the best one I know, PLEASE."_

He must be really desperate if he thinks I'M the best worker. I grimace as I look at my screen. It's already almost 3:54. I don't want to do this. At this moment, I'm most concerned for making sure my puppets have what they need.

But the other part of me can't stop thinking of how Carter took me from home from the party; of all the other times he's covered for my ass when Grant was about ready to lay it into me.

I frown.

" _Gaelin, you still there?"_ Carter asks on the other line.

I sigh, "Y-Yeah. I guess I can come in…"

" _Oh, thank you, thank you, THANK YOU! I knew I could count on you!"_

I blush, groaning when I look at my work uniform.

Lacking a back bone really blows, sometimes.

* * *

"Okay, so I need you guys to be as still as possible," I whisper into the bag when I get to one of the empty lockers in the break room, "There's going to be other people walking in and out of here throughout the night so I CANNOT risk you guys being given away."

There's a bunch of dismayed hissing in response.

"I know, I know, I'm sorry, you guys!" I respond, "But I promise, it's only for a few hours. As soon as I'm done, we'll be out of here, okay?"

They don't look much happier, and I can't blame them; I certainly wouldn't want to spend a long time in a hot, dark bag that's probably cramped, lying stiff as a board with nothing to do.

I say, "I promise I'll try to be done as quickly as possible. Then we'll be on our way. Until then, just…please be good, for once."

I zip up the backpack. It doesn't fit in the little lockers that are supplied to us, so I have to resort to setting in on top of them. I feel uneasy doing it- you can't be too careful when it comes to people like the puppets.

I jump when the door of the break room suddenly bursts open, Carter rolling in with a clipboard in his hand. He has a frown on his face as he looks down at it, not noticing me until I stumble back. When he looks up, it's instantly replaced with a giant smile, his eyes glittering with relief.

"Thank god you came!" he exclaims as he leads me out, "I swear, it's like the universe is conspiring to have everything go wrong! First Raul, then the disposal breaks _again_ and now the guests are especially bitchy today!"

He turns and gives me another smile as I follow him out, tying on my apron. "Thank you so much, for coming again. It really takes a lot off my shoulders."

"That bad?" I ask.

"You don't even know the half of it," he explains as we make our way to the kitchen, "Grant's been on my ass all day about the complaints. I swear, he keeps making that vein in his head bulge, he's going to have a stroke."

We share a small chuckle as we go into the dishwashing area. I glower when I see the line of bins that are full of dirty dishes already taking up most of the counter near the dishwasher, and the stacks of clean dishes on the rack that still need to be put away.

"Yeah, we're in for a lot tonight," Carter comments, as if reading my mind. He turns to me.

"Can I trust to you keep it consistent?" he asks.

I raise my brow, "Would I be standing here if you didn't?"

He chuckles, "Good point."

I take a deep breath, preparing myself for whatever chaos is about to be thrown at me tonight- whether it's from the customers or Grant- before taking an empty bin and walking out of the kitchen to the dining room, trying to focus on getting the dirty dishes in and out as fast as I can.

* * *

" _Someone please tell me how we are always ending up in these situations?!"_ Torch muttered as he tried to adjust himself, hissing at the stiffness in his joints from the prostrate position he had been forced into for what felt like hours.

Pinhead turned his head slightly- he had been in a crouching position, and doing so had begun to hurt his back. He remarked snidely, " _Just be glad that at least it's by the Master's doing this time and not some stranger."_

" _If he had any sense, we wouldn't have come here in the first place,"_ the robotic puppet snapped back, turning away. " _How long have we even been in here? I feel like I'm about to go insane, not being able to see anything."_

He was surprised to get a response, especially a response from Decapitron, of all of them. " _It looks to be coming down to about two hours and fifteen minutes."_

"… _.how the hell do you know that?"_ Six looked at him from his position.

Decapitron, not looking the least bit bothered from where he was forced to lie under the combined weight of both Tunneler and Jester- pointed to his right, where a small hole gave a beam of light- presumably where the zippers met in the teeth. He said in his characteristic blank tone, " _The small crack right here has allowed me to fetch a small glimpse of the outside. Luckily, we are in perfect position to get a full glimpse of the wall. I have steadily been watching it to keep track of how long we are here."_

Six groaned in response. " _Great, just two hours? And I could've sworn we've been here all night."_

" _Would you all stop complaining?"_ Blade growled, " _It's just been two stupid hours. We've been through worse, so I don't know why you're constantly bitching about it."_

Though, in all honesty, he couldn't blame them for being so antsy. He was probably just as on edge as the rest of them. Being locked away as long as they had been in the trunk in hotel crawlspace gave them all a newfound claustrophobia, as well as a slight fear of the dark. And the fact that it seemed to keep happening, whether the fates had it in for them or not, was starting to get on Blade's last nerve. It was hard to pass the time when you couldn't do or so anything, and he was quickly regretting going along with the Master's plan of events without giving a second thought.

The only thing he could hold onto was the hope that it wouldn't be long. But with the passing of an hour, then two, then three…by the fourth he was pretty sure he was close to losing it entirely.

He was just about ready to rip a hole in the fabric of the backpack out of insanity from having but the darkness to look at for hours, when he heard the Master's voice approaching.

"…complaining over something as fickle as the types of apples we carry," they could hear him muttering to someone, "It's like if you care so much, go to the goddamn grocery store and get some."

"I know, right?" an older voice responded, "From the way she was patronizing, I'm surprised she didn't spit out her snaggletooth from the way that thing was swinging."

The two chuckled at the latter's joke, and Blade sighed with relief. Finally, they were going to get going. This bag was hot, stuffy, and being forced to stay in the same cramped position for God knows how long was starting to take its toll on his joints. All he wanted to do now was to get to this store that the Master had been talking about, get what they needed, and get home.

"You know what Grant told me he got the other day? The Wallaces? They tried to get Song to start serving them individual orange slices cut up instead of just the mandarins because, and I'm not even joking 'the canned fruit has too much sugar'. Like, bitch, do you even understand the content of citrus?!" the other voice exclaimed.

"Ugh, I hate them," The Master's voice admitted, "And the way she always wants to touch you? Like, I don't know where your hands have been, lay off already."

Blade suppressed a groan. The thought that the Master was so close, and yet they were still being stuck in this space because the time to leave was being put off by superfluous conversation was irritating. Couldn't the Master talk and get them out of here at the same time? It wasn't that hard to do.

And yet, they kept on talking.

Only this time, their voices grew fainter…as if they were walking away.

Blade froze. A sickening feeling arose in him when he heard the sound of doors opening and shutting, the Master and the other man's voices disappearing entirely. He tried to say it was just his mind overthinking the situation- they had been bored, tired, and anxious, which could make the brain do many things- but a seed of dread spawned in him as a thought occurred in his mind at the sound. The thought of…no, it couldn't be…

" _He…he's coming back, right?"_ Jester voiced his fear, " _S-Surely he…he didn't just…leave us?"_

" _M-M-Maybe they needed to go out back for something,"_ he heard Leech Woman tried to rationalize, " _Maybe w-we misjudged the situation and this shift has to go on longer than any of us expected it to be. Maybe they're just really busy tonight."_

Blade tried to believe her, but when he stopped hearing the Master's voice entirely, the thought that had planted itself at the front of his mind grew.

According to Decapitron, four hours had passed.

Before they knew it, another one.

Then another.

Blade tried to steady himself, realizing he was digging into the fabric of the backpack in nervousness. He just needed to calm down and relax, that everything was okay.

But he couldn't ignore the feeling that the Master was no longer in this building.

Nor could he ignore the way he had noticed the noises coming from the next room- presumably a work kitchen- were steadily growing quieter and quieter. How he heard other voices telling each other goodbye, before the sound of the same doors opening and closing reemerged.

Before he knew it, the entire area had gone eerily quiet. There were two voices that came from somewhere to the left, neither of them- to his fear- the Master.

"You sure you going to be okay all by yourself, Carter?" a thick, heavily masculine voice asked, "I could always send Jeb up to help you."

"I'll be fine; I've got some paperwork to get done anyway," the voice that had been speaking to the Master earlier replied.

"I don't know. Maybe I should stay a little longer…" the first voice replied, sounding unconvinced.

"Grant, I'll be fine, I've done it before," was the response, "Besides, how would your wife feel if she found out you were stalling your time to coming home?"

There was a chuckle, "You got me there. Okay, take care, buddy. Have a good night."

"You too, Grant."

Another sound of heavy footsteps on tile.

Blade clenched his jaw together when he realized what that meant. Were they…all alone in this building?

There was a frantic tugging on his arm. Jester's voice whispered into his frantically, " _Blade, w-what do we do?"_

Blade looked at him, the pins in his eyes shooting out from his nervousness. He flexed his hook hand.

" _It's simple: we'll just make it through those doors that it sounds like everyone keeps going out of. The Master walked all the way here, so it should be an easy way out."_

Despite his words, though, Blade didn't feel nearly as confident as he tried to make himself sound. A large part of him was still reeling in shock from- what now seemed to be the likely case- the Master likely leaving them there.

He wouldn't admit it, but he was also rather hurt from it. He tried to squish it down, but a familiar feeling of betrayal had started to creep into his veins.

Wasn't this the same Master who had told them that he would never leave them? That he would be there for them for however long they desired to be in his care?

 _But since when do I expect anyone to keep their promises anymore_ , Blade though bitterly for a second, before he shook his head, pushing that to the back of his mind. Nevermind that, they had other things to worry about in the moment; he could sulk later.

" _Decapitron, do you think you can get that zipper open from this side?"_ he asked.

Though it took all of them having to try and move around a bit to help guide the zipper along the teeth, it luckily proved to be rather easy getting the bag open. Blade popped his head out, taking in the surroundings. They were in some sort of small room that looked almost like a home kitchen, with a fridge and microwave against one wall, a plastic table and metal chairs against the other that faced opposite to a small television near the ceiling. They looked to have been placed on a row of several lockers similar to the ones in the Master's school, though these ones were much more squared shaped and took up only about a quarter of the wall next to the counter that the microwave rested on.

" _Okay, come on, come on,"_ he gestured for the others to hurry as they scrambled out of the bag.

They leaped onto the counter from their height, using the drawers next to the empty space under the sink to get onto the floor. Blade gestured for all of them to stay behind him as he approached the doorway.

" _Don't get hit with a broomstick now,"_ Torch said from the back.

" _Shut up, Torch."_

Blade stopped by the doorway. Not willing to repeat the same mistake as last time- he was still sore from where the broom launched him into the wall- he poked his knife out, trying to find any sign of anyone nearby in the reflection of his knife. All it gave him, however, was blank white walls and what looked to be a giant bin for dumping dirty napkins.

He slowly poked his head out, making sure to check around the corner; so far, no pesky old men with a sweeper waiting to knock him into next week. So far so good.

As they slowly shuffled into the large hallway, Blade set his sights on a long pair of double doors at the end of the hallway. Both had a pair of long windows towards the inside of them, a pair of bars across each of them acting as handles. He casted a look to the others, pointing at the doors with his knife hand for a second. They looked between him and where he was pointing, silently nodding to assure them they understood the plan.

Making a run for it, they stayed close to the wall where another pair of doors lie, though these ones looked like they led further into the building. Making sure to keep behind the bin that housed dirty linen, they almost crashed into each other when Blade suddenly stopped in front of the doors, slipping on the slick tile floor.

Six Shooter and Jester stood together, cupping their hands to allow Pinhead to step onto them, lifting him up so he was about chest level with the doors. He looked over the small windowsill, looking over at the outside.

" _What do you think, Pin?"_ Blade asked.

Pinhead put his hands on the bar, giving it a test push. He put his full weight onto it, grunting as he tried to get it to move. Blade's heart sank as the sweater-clad puppet then shook his head, Six helping him down. " _No good. There seems to be some sort of locking mechanism from the inside; probably activates at a certain time to stop intruders, based on how dark it is now. It's probably one of those fancy card-reading things."_

" _Well, that's just great,"_ Blade muttered.

" _So…what do we do?"_ Jester asked.

Blade looked at him, before looking down the hallway, back at the other pair of doors that led into another room. He sighed.

Looks like they were just going to have to take their chances…again.

* * *

I walk through the door, feeling like I'm about to nod off right then and there. My eyelids keep drooping, even as I walk, and my footsteps are heavy. I shrug off my jacket as I make my way up the stairs, wanting to just get out of this smelly outfit and sleep. While today wasn't _as_ bad as it could've been, it was still, by no means, a walk in the park. Honestly, I can't understand why Grant keeps people like Candace and Ryan around. He gets on my ass all the time for not going fast enough, and yet Ryan is still here despite taking literally two hours to bring out a simple salad order.

I trudge up the stairs, exhaustion having overtaken me so much that just going up a few feels like I'm hiking Mount Everest while lugging a sack full of bricks on my back. I push open the door to my room, my eyes already closed as I make my way to my bed. I barely have it in me to shrug off my jacket and say hello the puppets before I curl up and fall right asleep.

I'm startled awake by the sound of someone knocking at my door. I look around the room, disoriented.

"Gaeley?" Josie's voice says hesitantly from the other end.

I sit up and rub my eyes. The time on my phone reads 9:25. Damn, two hours? I'll never get back to sleep now.

The knocking comes again, and Josie calls out a second time.

"I'm coming, I'm coming," I say tiredly, opening the door.

Josie looks up at me slowly, her eyes red and puffy from crying. She's wearing this long pink nightgown that makes her look even tinier, her bear feet sleepers- complete with sparkly, pink painted nails- coming out from under the hem, which she grasps tightly in her tiny fingers.

"Josie?" I ask, kneeling down, "What's the matter?"

"Gaeley," she squeaks in a heartbreaking tone, "I…I had an accident."

She looks away in shame, her face red, and I look down to see a telltale wet spot on the front of her nightgown.

"Oh, baby, it's okay," I say, standing up, "Come on, let's get you cleaned up."

I direct her back to her room, grabbing another sheet set and duvet from the storage closet on the way there. I turn on the lamp in her room and help her pick out some flannels and a new pair of underwear to change into. I strip the dirty sheets and blanket from her bed and drop them onto a pile on the floor.

"Okay, Josie-cat, let's get you out of these-" I say as I go to help her pull her nightgown off.

I stop when, to my surprise, she pulls away, fear in her eyes.

"Josie, what's wrong?" I ask, "I'm trying to help you-"

"I can do it myself," she responds quickly, holding her hands to her collar like she's afraid of me taking it off. "I-I'm a big girl."

I pause for a second, confused at this behavior. But I shake my head, handing her the pajamas. "That you are."

I turn my back to let her change as I replace the sheets on the mattress. I shoot her occasional glances over my shoulder, though, still reeling from the sudden display. I could certainly understand if she feels like she doesn't want to be babied anymore, but something's off about it. Like, she's afraid of me touching her.

I help tuck her in when we're both done, surrounding her with some of her favorite toys.

"Do you want me to read you a story? Maybe help you fall back to sleep?" I ask as I kneel at her bed after smoothing down the covers.

She shakes her head, pulling Mr. Jingles close to her chest. "No, thank you."

"You sure?"

"Yeah."

I nod, looking at the small nightstand next to her. There's a small necklace dangling from the knob drawer, a large heart-shaped pendant on a simple rope cord; it's smooth and glossy and a light pink shape. Maybe rose quartz.

"This is nice," I say, holding it in my palm, "Did Isaac get you this?"

"Yeah," she says.

"Well, that was kind of him."

"Yeah," is all she says.

I look at her, worry quickly overtaking me. She's normally not this despondent, this soft-spoken. I furrow my brows when I notice something. Something…off about her face.

"Josie," I say, coming closer, "Have you…have you been… _pulling_ out your lashes?"

She looks away, but I grab her chin and force her look at me. Josie has these thick, curly eyelashes that she definitely gets from Mom's side of the family that frame her eyes perfectly. They're long and make her eyes seem even larger.

However, at this moment, I look over her eyes to see, to my concern, that they've been plucked, most of the skin around her lids bare and patchy, the top one almost completely devoid of them. Josie looks to the side, her lip quivering.

"N-N-No," she quickly retorts, "I-I had an i-itch in my eye and they fell out when I r-rubbed it."

I sit back, not convinced one bit. I want to push further, get her to tell me the truth. But it's late and it's not the time for that.

"Okay, sweetheart," I say, giving her a kiss on the forehead, "Goodnight."

"G'night, Gaeley," she responds.

I close her door, watching it for a second. I make a mental note to talk to Mom- maybe talk to her about getting Josie to see a therapist. Josie's been steadily changing, and the signs are only getting worse. I mean, bedwetting? Hair pulling? Mr. Frost's death must've impacted her more than any of us thought. This isn't like Josie at all, to be so withdrawn, so lacking in energy.

I see in her the exact way _I_ acted when Dad died, and that scares the living hell out of me.

I make my way back to my room, scrubbing a hand through my hair.

"I tell you, you guys, this damn neighborhood is driving everyone crazy, I say as I sit on my bed…only to hear silence in return. I raise my head.

"Guys?"

I look around. The puppets are nowhere to be seen. I stand up, looking the open drawers and the closet. No sign of them.

"Where did…" I ask myself as I look around, my eyes falling on a blank spot where the extra backpack I had used to be.

Then I freeze.

The backpack…I put the puppets in it…and we…were going to go to the Hartwicke's…until…

Oh, God.

Oh, GOD.

I bolt up from the bed, yanking my shoes on as I bolt from the room. I race down the stairs, shoving my arms through my jacket; I misjudge the force, and my elbow hits against the stair railing, making a sensation of pins and needles run down my arm. I ignore it and almost leap off the last step, dashing towards the garage door.

How could I forget?

How could I forget _them_?

God, and it was so obvious to see them where I put them. Fuck, I'm so fucking stupid. I left them. I left _them_ all alone for hours, and I forgot about them. I'm a terrible owner. How could I do that to them?! After I gave my word? And now they're all alone, probably scared and worried? What kind of person am I?

 _Please be okay, please be okay, please be okay_ , the only thought that runs through my head as I get the garage door open.

* * *

They crept along the large kitchen, keeping their backs to the wall. The large kitchen was vast, piles of flattened cardboard boxes lying under a white board by one wall, two metal tables opposite from it against the other wall; there was a door on the latter with its handle held shut by a bungee cord and padlock. Blade could see an open door on the wall they were against. He held up his hand, motioning for the others to wait. He slowly peaked into the doorway.

It appeared to be some sort of office, with a few filing cabinets and a bulletin board that was covered in various papers and thumbtacks. A man sat with his back turned to Blade, seemingly typing away at the computer in front of him. To his joy, Blade noticed a pair of headphones rested on top of the man's curly black hair, covering his ears.

Not wanting to take any chances though, Blade cautiously stepped right into the doorway, walking around a few inches to test how much the man could still here.

The man didn't even move an inch.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Blade motioned for the others to follow, making them keep close to the opposite wall now. He kept taking glances back at the office, fearful that any second the man would turn in his chair and see them right in his view.

" _Hurry, get under here,"_ Blade commanded as they came close to a metal table, the bottom shelf of which stored several Tupperware containers full of ceramic bowls. It was no easy task, the puppets having to get all the way onto their stomachs and crawl like inchworms to fit under. Blade carefully turned his head- his flat position, with the table shelf being so low to the floor, forced him to put his head to that his ear was touching it- watching for any sign that the man was about to move.

" _Come on,"_ he told the others as he started scooting out from under the table. The others followed after him, trying to go two or three at a time. Torch grunted- his lack of another hand made it hard for him to crawl along, and he had to rely on his one good arm to pull him out. He was also forced to keep his head turned so the top of it wouldn't touch the table, which was causing a giant crick in his neck. Pulling himself along, he saw Shooter extend an arm out to help pull him the rest of the way through. Taking it Torch, turned his head as he came out from under the table.

He misjudged how fast Shooter pulled him, though, and turned his head back to its regular position far too early, causing the point at the top to scrape against the table with a grating _SCREEEEEEEEEEEE_ sound.

The rest of the puppets flinched at the sound, whipping their heads towards the direction of the office. Thankfully, the man's music seemed to have drowned it out.

Blade shot Torch a look, " _Would you be careful, please?"_

" _I'm trying to."_

" _Well, try harder."_

Turning his head before Torch had a chance for a retort, Blade made a beeline for the wall in front of them. Along it lay a few metal tables pushed side to side- housing various items like chips or a juice machine- a fridge, and an ice cream freezer. Next to that stood the double doors he had seen earlier. There was nothing but blackness beyond their windows.

Blade suddenly let out a small yelp of surprise as his feet suddenly spun out from under him, and he clawed at the air to try and regain his balance; his mind briefly registered the shiny substance- most likely cleaning fluid, or some kind of polish- that coated the floor.

Pinhead, too preoccupied with casting glances from behind, smacked right into him. They slid on the tile. Six Shooter, not expecting the sudden change of pace, thus ran into them, and the momentum caused the three of them to shoot forward, right into the side of the trash can that sat between the doors.

Smacking the side, the three of them landed in a heap on the floor. The force combined by the weight of the three of them shoved the trash can forward, and Blade winced as it banged against the steel pillar with a, a dull booming sound echoing through the kitchen.

There was still no sign the man in the office had heard them, but he knew that this was already too close of a chance. Blade looked back the double doors, frowning when he realized that they were held together by their handles by a plastic-coated chain and padlock. He cursed under his breath; now their second plan of escape was unavailable.

Fucking fantastic.

He felt a tugging at his arm, and he looked over to see Leech Woman pulling his sleeve; she silently pointed up at the ceiling, where an air vent stood over a metal table near the dishwasher. Blade gave her an unsure look; it was much higher up than the one of the old man's house. How would they get up there?

(Mentally he was also groaning- he was sick and tired of these tight, dark spaces he was constantly getting crammed into).

Leech Woman shrugged, and Blade sighed. _Here goes nothing, I guess_ , he thought to himself.

He gestured for everyone to follow him over to the table, and they all took turning climbing up onto its surface. Blade pointed at the air vent, before motioning to Shooter.

" _Do you think you can reach it?"_ he asked.

Six Shooter gave him a look of challenge, stretching his arms out in front of them and lacing all his fingers together, as if imitating someone cracking their knuckles.

" _Is water wet?"_ Shooter replied as he walked over to the wall, sparing a glance at the vent.

Grabbing onto the panes that held some of the drywall in place, he lifted his legs and slowly started crawling up to the ceiling. The others watched him, standing around in a circle under him. They all wore fearful expressions as they followed him up the wall, their nerves jumpy of any little risk of going wrong.

Shooter let out a noise as he neared the corner of where the wall met the ceiling. The closer he got to the ceiling, the more he felt the pane become loose, obviously not used to such a heavy weight grabbing onto it. He looked to the vent, trying to crawl faster before anything went wrong. He managed to get to the junction. Shooter looked at the vent, taking a deep breath and bracing himself, before reaching out to try and grab the bars in the vent.

He grunted, straining his arm. He held onto the pane with his right arms, but even with him stretching nearly his entire abdomen out, the vent was just out of reach. Six took a deep breath, before leaning out further.

" _Come on, come on,"_ he muttered to himself. He gritted his teeth as he reached out further, holding back a curse when he saw his fingertips were just barely touching the metal.

Suddenly, he froze at when he suddenly felt himself fall forward, before bouncing back slightly. Six shot a look over his shoulder.

His eyes widened when he saw that the panel was starting to come undone from the wall, the adhesive holding it together making somewhat of a ripping sound.

" _Shit,"_ Six hissed to himself, shooting his gaze back towards the vent, trying with newfound determination to reach the vent.

He lunged forward to try and get within arm's reach of the vent, only to let out a yell when he felt the panel give way even more; he scrambled to get back to the wall when he felt the panel bend, almost throwing him right off.

" _Six!"_ Blade shouted from below, the others crowding around under him, like they were readying themselves to catch the cowboy should he fall.

" _I'm fine! I got this!"_ Six Shooter insisted, though he could feel himself shaking as the instability of the panel grew.

" _Six, just get down! You'll fall!"_ Jester insisted.

" _I said I can do it!"_ Six repeated, " _I just need to get this open! I just need- WHOA!"_

Without any warning, the panel suddenly gave way, ripping right off the wall- leaving a darkened line where the adhesive was- and Six felt himself falling forward near the metal counter.

Right where a stack of plates resided.

" _SIX SHOOTER!"_ the others yelled, scrambling off the table.

A fluttery feeling filled Six's torso as he saw the metal of the countertop come closer and closer. He thrashed when he suddenly felt the panel snap in half under his weight, his fingers grasping a broken peace of plastic.

The stack of plates appeared right in front of him. Six held his arms over his face, bracing for the worst.

 _ **BANG!**_

 _ **CRASH!**_

The others stopped, cringing at the loud noises that filled up the room. Six had skyrocketed right into the plates, smacking into the countertop and shoving some of them off the edge. Blade winced at the deafening pops in his ears as the plates hit the floor and shattered, cracks spreading in the circular dishes like spiderwebs before dozens of pieces in every size shot out in every direction; Blade covered his face as some of it flew towards him like shrapnel, feeling it bat against his coat.

There was no way that man _didn't_ hear that sound, now.

Six Shooter stood up, holding his head. He had hit it twice, once against one of the plates and the other against the countertop, and he was in a bit of a daze as he tried to grasp his surroundings. The others stared at the mess on the floor, their hearts dropping; in all of them, they knew they had given themselves away.

Everyone froze when they heard the sound of hard footsteps on the floor, the sound of squeaking rubber echoing through the kitchen like a mouse in pain.

They scrambled for cover, taking shelter in the spaces under the countertop and hiding behind soup bowls, under the black carts against the wall, behind the microwave.

The man came into view as he turned the corner, glaring around as he turned this way and that. There was a large kitchen knife in his hand, and his boots squeaked against the tile as he made a sharp turn. Blade watched as he looked out the window of the double doors, his hazel eyes stormy and wary as he moved through the kitchen, slowly lifting his feet up and down, his shoulders stiff as he held the knife out in front of him.

"I know you're here, so just come out and face me," the man said boldly, though his eyes also held an air of fear.

He turned where Blade sat on a cart, taking cover behind a wicker basket full of aluminum chip bags. Blade crouched further, wanting to make sure nothing of his silhouette stuck out.

Inwardly, the albino puppet hissed.

They needed to get out of here. And fast.

* * *

I pump my legs, standing up from the bike seat as it glides along the sidewalk; I grit my teeth when I feel myself go wobbly when the tires hit bits of gravel, but I stubbornly fight to keep the wheel straight. The scenery flies by. My legs are screaming in agony and my lungs burn; my breathing is rapid and sweat spills down my temple like raindrops on a window. I stand up from the seat, making my back groan in protest from my hunched over position. Despite the cool air of the spring night, I'm sweating, my clothes sticking to the dampened stains on my back and stomach.

All I can think of, though, is _please be okay, please be okay, please be okay._

The sign of the restaurant comes into view, and I push myself forward, my feet nearly slipping off as I pedal faster, the momentum of the tires conflicting with my movement.

I the handle sharply to the right, hard enough that I almost fall off when it goes dangerously off to the side. I pull up to the back doors that lead to the kitchen and hop off my bike, not bothering to put the kickstand up. Please, please, please, please…

I tug on the doors. They don't even budge, the automatic lock having been activated probably hours ago.

"Motherfucker," I hiss under my breath, yanking at the doors with all my might, to no avail. I desperately pull, only to hear the doors bang against the locks holding them in place.

By this point, I don't give a damn. If I have to break a window, so be it, I'm not leaving here without my puppets.

"Fucking hell…Come on!" I pull with all my might, arching my back and digging my heels into the ground. I can feel my face go numb from the blood rushing into it.

The doors suddenly fly open, and I stumble back as I lose my grip, landing right on my ass.

I look up to see Carter standing there, surprise written on his face. "Gaelin?"

"Carter," I say, standing up. I'm panting and probably look like a mess, but I try to play it off anyway, running a hand through my hair. I swallow for air, "Um….hi."

He furrows his brows, giving me a confused expression. He looks at his watch, "It's almost 9:45, what hell are you doing here?"

"I, um, uh," I gasp for breath, pointing past him, "I f-forgot something and, um, wanted to come back and get it?"

He raises an eyebrow, his voice full of doubt, "And you couldn't just wait until tomorrow to come and get it?"

"Um, no?" I say, realizing this probably, to him, sounds completely crazy. "I-I-I just thought m-maybe you were still here and it was…something needed for school?"

The look of doubt doesn't leave his face, and he looks over his shoulder, an unsure grimace on his face. "Look, Gaelin, I don't…I don't feel comfortable letting you in, right now-"

"Please, it'll take a second," I beg, daring to be brave and walking right under him. "I even know where I left it, so I'll just get it and be in, and out."

I speedwalk right past him, making a beeline for the break room, my heart hammering in my chest.

"W-Wait, Gaelin!" he calls, following after me.

I feel my chest fill with relief when I see the bag's exactly where I left it, on top of the lockers. I march over, reaching for it.

"Gaelin, wait! You can't just come in here and…" Carter trails off.

I grab the bag, about to turn around.

I pause when it slides right off the lockers with no resistance.

With much less weight than there should be.

Like there's nothing in it at all.

I look in the bag, reaching my hand in and digging around. My eyes grow wide.

"They're gone…" I mumble to myself, a pit growing in my stomach.

Carter pauses in his scolding, concern replacing the slight annoyance.

"Gaelin, what's wrong?" he asks.

"No," I say, barely even registering he addressing me, "No, no, nononononononono…"

They can't be gone.

They _can't_ be.

I grab handfuls of my hair. I feel tears prick the corners of my eyes.

They are gone, though.

They're gone, and it's my fault.

I left them here. I broke my promise.

"Gaelin?" Carter repeats in a worried tone, putting his hand on my back.

 _ **BANG!**_

We both jump at the sound of something hitting the floor in the kitchen. There's a big clatter, a weird wobbly sound following after it. Probably something metallic. We look towards the kitchen; I feel Carter grip my forearm tightly.

"What…what was that?" I ask.

Carter swallows hard, something hard in his eyes.

"Carter?"

"I don't know if it's someone or an animal somehow got in here," he says lowly, "But there's been these sounds all night since Grant left. Right before you came, something crashed and broke."

Nervousness fills my chest instantly, briefly making me forget about my self-loathing for forgetting about the puppets.

"Gaelin," Carter says slowly, "I want you to listen to me. Go to my car and-"

"No."

"Would you just-"

"Carter, I'm not going to _leave_ you here to deal with it. Just let me come with you. Safety in numbers, right?"

He gives me an annoyed look, but stand my ground. Making a 'tsk' sound, he shrugs and slowly has me follow behind him as we make our way into the kitchen. He holds his arm out behind him, keeping me at a slight distance. He walk by the walk-in fridge, and I'm surprised to see him grab a kitchen knife off the table. He suddenly puts his hand to my chest, motioning for me to wait as he looks around the corner. I see a flicker of shock come across his face, accompanied by slight fear.

I poke my head around. By the back sink, one of the large metal mixing bowls is slowly spinning on its side on the floor, like someone's knocked it down.

Carter walks over to it cautiously, putting it back.

"I swear to God, someone's playing games," he mutters.

I try to be of some comfort, "Do you think that maybe…it was just the air? Like it was just strong enough to knock a few things out of place."

"I could maybe believe that, had it been just that," Carter says as he walks by the line where the chefs usually are, gesturing me to come see something, "If _this_ hadn't happened before."

I walk over to him, and to my surprise, there's a pile of broken plates lying all over the floor. That's when I also notice one of the panes looks like it's been pulled off the wall, broken in half and lying by the trashcan.

"What the hell is going on?" Carter asks to no one.

He crouches to pick up the broken pieces. I bend down to help him-

-Suddenly, there's a high pitched hissing sound somewhere off to the side.

We both shoot up, looking in the direction of the shelf that stores all the utensils. Carter puts his arm across my chest, like he's about to protect me from something popping out.

I stare at the spot, confused.

I swear, I've heard that sound before…

Right in front of us, the stack of bowls on the shelf suddenly rattles, and we both take a step back.

We share a glance of shock and horror as everything suddenly starts rattling on the shelf, a little shadowed figure moving in between the dishes. It's making the same hissing sound. I brace myself for whatever's about to come out, but at the same time, there's some kind of buzzing in my head, like I should recognize that sound. Where have I heard that before?

The little figure jumps onto the bottom shelf, concealed by the shadows of the items on the shelf. It pushes aside tongs and spatulas. Carter and I stand back. My heart's beating wildly in my chest-

…Leech Woman comes popping out, stumbling over when some of the utensils catch on the hem of her dress. She regains her balance and looks up at the both of us. Her eyes soften as they look upon me, a satisfied coo escaping her as she holds her hands out like she wants to be picked up.

My eyes widen. My heart fills with relief and joy. I feel like I'm about to cry from the solace of it. I smile, overjoyed at seeing her.

"Leech-" I mumble.

"What the fuck?!" Carter suddenly exclaims, cutting me off.

I feel him grab my arm in an iron grip, shoving me behind him as he puts some distance between us and Leech. He holds the knife out in front of him, the steel glinting in the fluorescent lights of the kitchen.

In my reverie, it takes me a moment to realize what has just transpired.

Leech looks back at Carter, stepping back in surprise.

"Gaelin," Carter says, not looking at me, "I want you to get out of here as fast as you can. Get to my car, and call the police."

I look at him. I don't like the way he's looking at Blade. A spring of fear erupts in me. "Carter, wait, n-no, he's not-"

Leech Woman suddenly makes a noise in the back of throat- something I've never heard come from her. To my shock, her face suddenly twists into an angry snarl, those bow-shape red lips an open maw to a black hole, her eyes narrowing in an angry glower as she grabs a small knife from the bundle of charms on her dress. She raises it over her head like she's about to charge.

She takes a step forward.

"STAY BACK!" Carter suddenly yells, picking up a plate and hurling it at her.

"Carter, no!" I yell.

Leech crouches, shielding herself as the plate flies over her head. It smacks against the rail and falls to the floor, shattering completely. It manages to knock off some other things from the shelf, whisks and containers clattering as they hit the tile.

I don't have any time to grasp what's going on, before I feel Carter grab my arm and yank me in the other direction, making me stumble as I struggle to keep up with him.

"We have to get out of here!" he exclaims as he pulls me along.

"Carter, wait! They don't mean-" I try to explain, before I come to an abrupt stop and slam right into his back as Carter stops right in his tracks. There's fear written all over his face, and he's gone noticeably pale.

I look over his shoulder. Decapitron stands right in the doorway, his hands out like he's about to lunge at someone. There's a movement to the left, and I look to see Torch join him. his mouth is open, and he's snarling like a mad dog. His eyes glow as he focuses on Carter, raising his flamethrower hand like he's about to set the whole place ablaze.

Carter lunges for the side table, grabbing the blender off the table and launching it at them. They try to dodge it, but it manages to clip Decapitron in the shoulder, and he silently thrashes around as he falls onto his back.

"Decapitron!" I yell, barely getting it out before Carter grabs my hand again and pulls me by the back sink. I try to pull away- I'm only focused on Decapitron and making sure he's okay, making sure Torch is okay. "Carter, let me go!"

"We need to get out of here!" he yells, his boots stomping on the ground, "We need to get away from whatever the hell those things are! We need to-"

"He pulls me towards the second exit that leads out to the dining room. Before we can, a pile of metal dishes suddenly spills out from the shelf near there. We stumble back, and I see Pinhead appear in the blank space, a large soup ladle cradled in his hands.

"What the hell's going on here?" Carter says, his voice high and cracking with fear.

There's a sound of something moving towards the top, and we look to see Blade near the top of the shelf Pinhead is on. Tunneler is on the countertop next to us, and Carter jumps back at the close distance.

"G-g-guys, just calm down," I try to rationalize.

From the feral expression on Leech's face, to the way Pinhead's holding the ladle like he's about to bash someone with it, I'm getting a horrible feeling that this isn't going to end well.

"Gaelin, go! Get out of here, I'll hold them off!" Carter tries to say bravely as he holds the knife with both hands.

"Carter, stop! They don't mean to-"

I get cut off as Tunneler rushes towards him, his head down. The drill on the top of his cranium is spinning wildly- since when did it do that?- the sound reminding me the same irritating sound that occurs when the dentist is cleaning your teeth.

Carter tries to slash at him, and manages to knock him on his side.

"Carter, stop!"

He doesn't have time to recover, though, when Blade suddenly lunges on him, landing right on his head.

Blade raises his knife hand, and starts slashing.

" _ **BLADE, NO**_ _!"_ I screech.

Carter screams and drops the knife. It falls onto the counter, as he tries to raise his hands above his head to protect his face. Instantly I see blood spill as Blade hacks away at him, drops of blood spilling onto his polo shirt. Blood coats his hands as Blade gets some cuts into them. Carter slams against the wall, yelling in pain. I see Blade shove the knife forward and give him a painful-looking gash in the side of his neck.

"BLADE, STOP!"

But before I know it, the other puppets come rushing in, ganging up on Carter like an episode of The Muppets gone horribly wrong.

Jester and Leech, both equipped with small knives, stab at Carter's legs, while Six Shooter aims his pistols, cocking the tiny hammers back. I scream in surprise, flinching as a loud pop makes my ears ring; I hear Carter yell out, and to my shock, when I look up, there's a hole right in the torso of his shirt. Pinhead gets on the back of his neck, wrapping a shoelace around his neck and strangling him, leaving his face open as Carter's hands grab at his throat

I try to make myself do something- get them off of him, rip Blade off of his face- but I'm too frozen in fear. In shock. In disbelief.

These…who are these puppets?

Where did this aggression suddenly come from? This violence? This thirst for blood?

Andre's words suddenly echo in my mind, and my blood runs cold.

 _They are unpredictable. They are not afraid to tow the line between right and wrong._

 _They will do_ _ **whatever**_ _it takes to survive._

No…no….

I snap out of it when I hear Jester yell in pain, and look to see Carter kicking him away. He goes flying right past me, slamming against the sink and sinking to the floor. I yell out his name, but can't do anything before Carter Leech Woman shrieks; Carter's got her pinned under his shoe, and she screams in pain, flailing her arms around.

"LEECH!" I howl.

Carter stomps on her.

"CARTER STOP, YOU'RE HURTING HER!" I yell, my limbs finally willing themselves to move. "STOOOOP!"

He yanks them off of him one by one, throwing them in random directions like they're tennis balls. He manages to finally get a hold of Blade and yank him away from his face. Carter slams Blade onto the table. Blade squirms under his grip; his hair and face are covered in blood, the smooth white now smeared pink. Carter looks like he's just put his face through the garbage disposal- thousands of shallow cuts and gashes mar his face, neck, and arms. His eyes are blazing with fear and desperation. I see him reach for a hammer that's been left on the table- no doubt Grant trying to do repairs by himself again.

My heart stops as he raises the hammer above his head, realizing what he's about to do.

If that makes contact with Blade's face…there's no way Blade'll survive that.

Everything suddenly moves in slow motion, the same way it did the night Sadie died.

All I can think of is how my puppets lie around me.

My beautiful puppets, now hurting, in pain, one of them in danger.

Carter's about to kill Blade. He's going to kill my precious puppet.

My eyes land on the glinting knife still on the table nearby, and everything else turns off.

My body acts before my mind can.

" _ **NO**_!" I scream

I dive for the knife. It's warm in my palm, my knuckles gripping it so tightly I turn right.

I slam myself into Carter, getting him away from Blade. Carter stumbles, dropping the hammer

Before I can think, I thrust the knife forward-

-everything stops.

We both freeze. Both ours mouths hang open in shock, I look at Carter, realizing what's just happened, and yet, at the same time, my mind still blank.

Carter stares at me, little sounds escaping in a failed attempt to annunciate. His eyes are wide, a mix of shock, hurt, and fear deep in those hazel pools. His eyebrows knit together, and his lips quivers.

"G…G…G-Gaelin…" he whimpers, "w….w…w….why?"

My throat feels dry, and it suddenly occurs what I've just done.

I slowly look down between us….

…My hand's wrapped tightly around the knife….

…which has now been plunged right into his sternum. Right between his lungs.

My heart stops.

I force myself to look up at Carter.

I blink, flinching as he suddenly coughs, blood splattering onto my face. My eyes open wide, and I suddenly feel frozen. I can feel run down the handle, wet between my fingers.

Carter's shaking. Blood runs out of his mouth and down his chin, his mouth quivering like he wants to get the words out, but can't. His eyes- kind, soft, welcoming, though they do hold a little bit of sadness in them- don't look right on this face, this face a gory mess of red.

I stand in place, my hand still grasped tightly around the knife's handle.

Carter takes a step back, and I feel the weight of the knife shift as he eases himself off the blade.

I swallow hard. He takes another step back, looking down as he brings a hand to the injury.

I feel sick. There's a giant slit in his shirt, the red stain around it growing darker as it spreads, a waterfall of blood running down the middle. Carter looks back at me, tears in his eyes. I clench my jaw at the heartbreaking expression on his face.

His breathing doesn't sound right.

I finally find it in me. To take a step forward.

Carter takes another step back, before his foot slips on a small puddle of blood-

-And he falls flat on his back, before he stops moving altogether.

For a few seconds, I just stand there. I try to take a deep breath, but it comes out all raggedy and uneven. The blood is drying, and it pulls at my skin as I do so.

There's small footsteps, and I look down to see the puppets gathering around Carter, observing him like you would a piece of art.

I take one step forward.

Then another.

I look up at Carter's face.

His head's tilted to the side. His eyes are looking different directions. His eyelids have lowered slightly, like he's tired, but his eyes are unseeing, clouded over. Blood runs out of his mouth. His hair is slick with blood. So are his clothes.

I take another breathing-

Oh… _god_.

Oh god, oh god, oh god, _ohgodohgodohgodohgodohgod-_

I barely hear the knife clatter to the floor.

It's like I can sense everything, and yet nothing at the same time.

The sticky feel of it on my face, the coppery smell coating the air like air freshener, the way it's almost black in the dim lighting. How it grows, flooding into the tile spaces and cracks like a tidal wave. The way it seeps from the smaller cuts in his neck and the huge gaping hole from the knife.

How did it come to this? _Why_ did it come to this?

This wasn't supposed to happen. It wasn't supposed to be like this. Nobody was supposed to get _hurt._ I just wanted to protect them, I just wanted- _this wasn't supposed t happen, goddammit!_

Something catches my eye. I force myself to look away.

They're all staring at me, like they're just waiting for me to say something. They don't' seem to notice how the blood pools around their ankles.

What do they expect me to do? Congratulate them? Tell them they did good? Did- did they think I wanted this to happen? That I wanted Carter to die?!

I can feel the blood drip off my fingers when a horrifying revelation comes to mind.

Kailani, Holden, Tony, Mr. Frost, Sadie, and now Carter…oh, Carter-

Oh god, it all makes sense.

My head feels fuzzy. My face feels numb. I feel like I can't breathe. I look down. Blade's looking at me, those hollow sockets feeling like they're staring right through my soul somehow. His face and hair are drenched in blood, little droplets sliding down his jaw like dew drops.

It barely registers that I'm screaming.


	39. The Glass Shatters

**Chapter XXXVIII: The Glass Shatters**

 _Note: This chapter contains talk of suicide, as well as the first person perspective of a mental breakdown. Please proceed with caution._

I stumble over my bike as I make it into the driveway, nearly falling flat on my face as I get off of it. I don't bother to put the kickstand down, leaving it lying on its side in the middle of the garage as I close the door behind me. My legs feel like jelly, and I feel like at any minute they're about to give out.

A dizzying, light-headed feeling has come over me. I head straight to the stairs, feeling like my body has been taken over by another being as my legs bend and bring me upstairs. My movements are robotic; I'm silent.

I head straight for my room and turn on the light. I swing the bag off and set it down on my bed. My hands are shaking so badly that it takes me a few seconds to get a solid grip of the zipper and pull it open. I gently take the puppets out one by one. I can feel their eyes on me, questioning me.

I don't say anything. My jaw is clenched shut, my lips pressed together. Right now, I feel like I can't even breathe. I fumble around in my drawers, bringing out the first shirt and sweatpants I touch, before I turn away from the puppets, their hissing buzzing around in my head like a hornet's nest. I know they probably have questions, but right now I can't say anything. I can't even _look_ at them- if I did, I'd lose it completely.

I march out of the room, turning to the right for the bathroom. I turn on the light and lock the door behind me. I drop my clothes on the top of the toilet and pull back the shower curtain. I grab the shower knob.

My stomach lurches. My throat salivates in warning of possible vomiting. I try to hold it in, reaching for the knob with my other hand, frantically turning it to the hottest setting, steam already rising from the tub.

I hurriedly pull my clothes off- I hold in a gag at the sight of blood drops staining the fabric- and step into the shower, grabbing a washcloth off the towel rack as I do so.

I can feel my composure loosening, my breathing starting to get shallower and shallower; I think I'm close to hyperventilating.

The water is boiling, feeling like lava on my skin as I get in, my soles are even burning on the floor of the tub. The pain only makes my breathing more ragged, the pain in my chest worse. Gritting my teeth, I force myself under the spray, ignoring how my body is roaring in protest in every direction.

I see a tinge of red, and look down at my hand. The blood is starting to dry, standing out as it settles in the cracks of my skin, caking under my fingernails.

 _Carter's blood_.

The breathing grows worse.

My stomach does a flip, and I know I can't hold it in anymore.

I dart to the side and throw back the curtain, falling to my knees as I scramble to get the toilet up. I lean halfway out and puke, my throat- already sore after I've screamed myself hoarse and raw- erupts in a torrent of agony as the acid from the bile comes up. My stomach clenches painfully as it forces more up, making me dry heave, which sends stabbing aches throughout my abdomen. My nose is filled with a disgusting scent, saliva dripping from my mouth as I cough.

It doesn't matter, though.

I deserve so much worse.

I pull back into the shower, and it's then that I realize I haven't stopped hyperventilating.

My breathing comes out in almost a whistling tone, pain constricting my chest like at any moment it's going to cave in on itself. I sit in the shower, desperate to get the blood off. I scrub desperately at my face and hands, running my fingernails across my palm, hard, to try and get the blood out from under, going over the same areas over and over until my skin is burning from irritation. The water runs pink down the drain. All the while, I'm a blubbering mess, my breathing ragged and high pitched, like I can't get the oxygen flowing fast enough.

I pull at my hair as I close my eyes, sobs passing my lips. I put the wash cloth between my teeth and bite down until my jaw aches, muffling the scream that passes through me.

Oh, Christ. Oh, dear God, what have I done?

I killed Carter. _I fucking killed Carter_.

Guilt comes crashing down on me, and I let loose another scream as I sink onto the floor, curling up into a ball as I shout into the tub. Millions of thoughts race through my head, all about Carter and all the times we've talked. I think about all the times he's offered to help, or whenever he's asked me about my day. The kind smile he'd always give, the way he'd defend me whenever Grant was giving me a hard time, all those invitations to events he'd go to. I think back to the night of the party, when he was willing to drive all the way out to make sure my drunk ass got home safely, how he stood up for me against Paul.

He was only twenty-six. He had people who cared about him- a girlfriend of five years that he'd told me he was sure he was going to marry, everyone at the office who loved him and his generosity, a big Mastiff by the name of Gandalf. He was about to graduate college. He never asked for much, but was always willing to lend a helping hand, even when he was taken advantage of. Always a shoulder to cry on, a hand to lend.

 _You ever need someone to talk to, I'll be right here_ , was his message that night Sadie died.

And I took that all away from him.

 _I_ did that. _I_ killed him.

He was probably one of the only friends I had, and I repaid him by sticking a knife in his chest.

I put my face in my hands, muttering apologies that don't mean shit anymore, letting the burning water wash over me, though God knows it will never be enough to rid me of this stain, this sin.

And the puppets…

Oh, god, the puppets.

A cold feeling washes over me, even in the suffocating mugginess brought on by the water's steam.

How can I go back in that room and look at them the same way? After all they've done?

Andre's words repeat in my head, and my mind goes blank at going in circles, trying to make sense of all of it.

How could I not see it? How could I not realize it? Everything's been right there, in front of my eyes the whole time, and I've been too fucking stupid to even suspect a thing.

Them coming back after the whole thing at school with Kailani, and the same night Kailani winds up dead….

I don't know how they were able to do it with the others, but something just _tells_ me that they did it. They killed Holden and Tony and set their car on fire; they were the ones who cut up and burned Sadie, who killed Mr. Frost. It doesn't make sense, and yet at the same time everything falls into place. I should've seen the signs, they were _right there_ \- I mean, Blade and Torch have fucking weapons for hands, how did I not even think of that? God, I'm a fucking idiot.

I….oh fuck, what have I done?

They tried to tell me.

Everyone tried to tell me. Audrey, Paul, Andre…and I didn't listen.

Tears fill my eyes.

I let this happen.

I was impulsive; I should've read more into the journal, should've done more research, should've done _something_ before I just decided to play with fire. I didn't, and now I've let a group of serial killers out into the world…again. I didn't listen, I didn't _care_ , and now people are dead because of me. Their blood is on my hands. People are dead….Carter's dead, and I did it myself.

I….I really am the monster they say I am.

I put my hands to my face again, my shoulders bouncing up and down as I'm consumed with sobs. My knees are starting to ache from pressing into the floor, but I don't care. My thoughts are consumed with Carter- the look on his face in his last moments is seared into my brain; it's there behind my eyes every time, nagging at me.

A sudden harsh knocking at the door startles me, and I stiffen.

"Gaelin, are you in there?" Mom calls from the other side.

Fuck. My heart starts hammering my chest. I scramble to open the curtain- can barely see anything through the thick steam- trying to hide the crack in my voice. "Y-Yeah, Mom?"

"Is everything all right in there? It's awfully late for a shower," she asks.

Her and Paul probably just got home from the dinner party his work was hosting. I try to think of an answer, my mind too scrambled for me to think straight; my mouth goes dry at the thought of my bloodstained clothes still on the floor. Don't come in, don't come in, don't come in….

"Um, uh, y-yeah," I call back, trying to keep my voice steady, "I just…had to run to the s-s-store real quick and got really sweaty."

"Oh…" she doesn't sound entirely convinced. I stare at the door like I'm going to melt it.

"Well," to my relief, she beckons, "Good night, sweetie. Don't stay in too long."

"I-I won't. 'Night, Mom," I say, shoulders dropping in relief.

I sigh, and look at the floor. A lump rises in my throat when I get a sight of my clothes. I get a feeling like I want to puke again.

Instead, I sit back in the shower for a few more minutes- the hellfire temperature has since left, and it's now painfully freezing as it cascades down my body. I rinse off the rest of the lather, and stand under the spray. I press a hand to the wall and hang my head, ignoring the shivering that's accompanied by the sensation of pins and needles. The water runs down my face, getting in my face.

Finally, I turn the water off and grab a towel. I step out, stepping over my clothes. I go to the mirror and wipe the condensation off the mirror, looking at my reflection.

My skin has gone a bright pink, some spots raw with traces of blood. My eyes are all puffy and red, my eyes bloodshot. There's a dead look in my eyes, the bags underneath highlighted even more. A humorless thought comes to my mind; _Now I really do look like a zombie._

I don't recognize myself.

I swallow hard.

It's all over. I know it is. I'm no criminal mastermind, and I know how easy it is for people who think they are to fuck up. I dumped the knife in a sewer near the curb, but I know it's probably only a matter of time before they gather up all the other evidence I left behind- maybe a hidden security camera, a footprint in the dirt, something- and come to lock me away. And this time, nothing Paul will say will keep them from taking me. This time, there is proof. Not that I don't deserve it.

I deserve everything that comes to me.

I close my eyes, and feel a few more tears run down my face.

Every time I try to get better, I only end up dragging everyone down with me. I really am a waste of space. A piece of shit. A horrible excuse for a human being. I killed an innocent man to protect, what? Some sentient toys who would've killed him anyway? Who have no qualms about killing and have done it before? To carry on the legacy of a man who's used them for his own violent agenda? I weep, putting my hand to my mouth to muffle the whimpers escaping.

I should've been the one to die in that car crash.

Biting my lip, a thought comes to mind. It makes my heart pound, but I tell myself that I don't have room to complain. Everyone would be better off anyway. I swallow hard, and finally turn away.

I get dressed, gathering up my work clothes. I go back into my room and dump them in the bottom of my trash can. Not that it matters, either way.

The puppets hiss about with restlessness, probably concerned with my sudden spawn of giving them the silent treatment. I go my dresser, before I look over my shoulder, finally sparing them a look.

They're all gathered on my bed, gazing up at me with fear and wonder. I bite my lip, tears filling my eyes. What once brought me wonder, brought me so much joy…now, it's nothing but guilt and shame. When I do, all I can think about is Carter's bloodstained face, looking at me like he'd just seen the Devil. What can I say to them? That's it's going to be okay? That everything will be better? What a joke.

Nothing will ever be okay, again.

I can't say anything. I'm scared if I do, everything will come out wrong. I don't even know if right now, I'm capable of speaking.

Taking a deep breath, I force myself to look away from the puppets. I look in the mirror.

They keep making noises behind me, and a surge of guilt runs through me at what I'm about to do.

They're probably not going to understand why. They're probably going to be scared and hurt. They're going to have dozens of questions, maybe why I did it, how I could leave them like this, maybe wondering if they were the cause of it. Questions that will never be answered.

But…it's for the best.

For them. For Mom and Josie. Everyone.

Everyone…would be so much better off without me.

I look into my drawer, pushing some things around before I find and pull out the switchblade I've kept there for the past few years.

It was Dad's, once. I stole it from his room when I was twelve to show off to my friends because I wanted to be cool and thought I'd be able to pull off the tricks I'd seen in all those videos. I ended up slicing my palm on the first try and threw it back in, but not before I cried like a baby and had to bandage myself up because I was scared of getting in trouble. On my really bad days, I'd thought about using it, but I always chickened out.

I pop the blade out in my right hand, before holding up my left, the underside of my forearm pale in the bedroom light.

Taking a deep breath, I raise the switchblade to my wrist.

I start to press down, feeling the cool metal dig into my skin. Hesitation instantly grabs a hold of me, and I find myself having to will my arm- which has started shaking badly- to press down harder.

The puppets suddenly erupt in a chorus- whether it's confusion of what I'm doing, or protesting, I don't know.

A blanket of panic starts to settle over me, and I let loose a breath, forcing myself to continue.

There's been many times where I thought about killing myself. On days where depression had me literally unable to even get out of bed and it'd be days on end I would cry myself to sleep, I contemplated several times of going through with it- thinking about the best way to go, if I'd leave a note behind, when I'd do it. But thinking about it doesn't even compare to actually doing it, and I find myself fighting against the temptation to back out.

I press harder, and start to feel the skin hurt from the pressure of the blade. Still no blood drawn though. I press harder. This time, I'm rewarded with a small sting as it breaks through, and see a tiny bead of blood start to pool under the blade. I turn away, squeezing my eyes shut against the pain. I grit my teeth, and start to pull my arm back, intending on cutting the skin all the way down to my elbow. I make it probably a centimeter before my entire wrist explodes in agony, and I groan from how much it hurts despite how small it is.

Millions of voices run through my head, most of them telling me not to do it. I try to ignore them, focusing on the one that keeps reminding me of how Carter is laying on the floor in the restaurant with a hole in his chest. I whimper, despite my best efforts to be quiet.

I deserve this, I tell myself.

I killed someone. I should die in return.

I won't survive in prison.

I can't let the puppets continue on- how many more people will get hurt the next time I'm not around? Whose to say they won't hurt Josie, or Mom?

I deserve to die.

That thought keeps repeating in my head like a mantra; I briefly realize I've started crying again, thoughts of everything that has seem to happen since last winter running through my head over and over again, speeding by like a subway train.

 _I deserve this._

Everything comes and goes in my mind all at once, nothing in any particular order: The expressions on both Carter and Sadie's faces before they died, how infuriated Holden looked when he confronted me in the cafeteria, the look of joy on Kailani's face when she broke Goselyn.

 _I deserve this._

Mine and Paul's screaming match, the pain radiating all over my body as Holden and Tony beat me up in the woods. The nightmares of that skull creature that warned me about something. The news that Aaron McAllister is out of prison and is now living his life while Dad sits in a coffin.

 _I deserve this_.

The sickening scene of Dad slowly bleeding out from the shrapnel in his throat. The days I couldn't do much but sit in the hospital in so much pain, both mentally and physically. The days where Sadie and Kailani would pour water in my bag and ruin my books, or the time Tony stole my clothes while we were in gym and shoved them in the trashcan. The time Holden dunked my head in the toilet.

 _I deserve this_.

The way Mr. Frost would sneer whenever he'd look at me, like just my physical being was disgusting. How Paul always has that glint in his eye whenever I'd bring up the dolls, like the hint of disgust was always there no matter how nice he'd try to be. How Grant once took almost a third of money off of my paycheck for the dishes that broke because Teresa was trying to carry food out and flirt with a customer at the same time. How every one of my friends at one point or another slowly drifted away, one by one, until they were all gone and done with me completely.

I deserve this.

I deserve this.

I…...

…... _no_.

I don't….I _don't_ deserve this.

I don't deserve any of this!

I pull the switchblade from my arm and look at myself in the mirror, letting my arms drop to my sides.

My brows are furrowed, my lips in a tight frown. My cheeks are bright red, shiny with tear marks. My eyes go hard, my jaw clenching. My eyes are glassy, hard like marbles. But where tears and pity and sadness once filled them-

-is now nothing but righteous anger.

I don't deserve this.

I have never done anything to deserve this.

 _I_ was the one who watched his father die right in front of him because some rich little bastard decided to showboat and go over the speed limit. _I_ was the one whose friends abandoned him because they decided I was too much too handle. _I_ was the one whose life was made a living hell daily by all of them- from the vandalism, to the snide and smartass remarks, to all the unwanted touching. _I_ was the one who got pummeled with dodgeballs every day, who got shoved down stairs and had my wallet stolen and who got lunch food poured all over him. _I'm_ the one who had to deal with Mr. Frost's constant nagging and little smartass comments about how I'm such a disappointment to the world. _I'm_ the one who had his things broken, who got his bones broken and orifices bleeding more times than I can count, _I'm_ the one who got hit by the little bitch who thought she could take me on, _I'm_ the one whose had to deal with everyone's shit while they all leave me in the dirt and hang me out to dry. _I'm_ the one whose had to have his back against the wall because I'm not who everyone 'expected' me to be. _I'M_ the one whose had to deal with everyone else's problems while they do nothing but make a joke out of mine.

 _I'm_ the one who everyone expects to be their own personal doormat

 _I'm_ the one who everyone wants to take and take and take and take…..

Well….no more.

Absolutely, _**NO MORE**_ _!_

I grit my teeth, snarling as I grow angrier and angrier with every passing thought. My grip on the switchblade grows tighter and tighter, the skin on my knuckles stretching to an opaque white, my joints starting to hurt from it. I look up at the mirror, my eyes blazing.

With a sudden frustrated shout, I swing my fist and punch the mirror as hard as I can.

It bangs against the wall with a dull pounding, the mirror itself making a dull popping sound like that of a confetti cannon as the glass instantly shatters against the impact. Cracks spread like a gash in the Earth, some pieces falling out and onto the carpet. A fireball of pain instantly erupts in the center of my fist, some shards slicing and embedding themselves into my knuckles, the itchy feeling of warm blood slowly running down my skin.

"No more," I whisper.

I refuse to be everybody's doormat _any_ longer.

Removing my hand from the mirror, and I take a look at the damage. It's nothing too bad, though my middle knuckle has a giant slice in it, a few pieces of reflective glass stuck in it. I flex my fingers, ignoring the slight sting from the stuck, making more blood run down my hand. I look at my other hand, observing the cut I made on my wrist. it's about two or three centimeters in length, a few small drops of blood running horizontally down my arm. Nothing more than a shaving nick. I huff in disgust; I can't believe I was actually about to do that. What a mess.

There's a jumbled mess of hissing and murmuring behind me, and I finally turn around and look at the puppets. They're all gathered on the bed, leaning back like they're afraid of what I'm going to do next, or if I'm going to turn the violence on them. They stare at me with wide eyes.

"Oh, my puppets," I say as I move towards them, "My precious, beautiful little puppets…"

They back away from me when I reach out to them; probably scared that I'm going to strike them. But I would never do that. I would never dare raise a hand to my dear puppets.

"Come here, all of you," I say, scooping them all up in my arms.

Some of them need to be cleaned up- they're still covered in blood. Blade, especially, his whole face and hair nearly all dyed a cotton candy pink. They look up at me, unsure- probably have noticed the complete one-eighty change on attitude.

"I finally see it now," I say softly to them, "I finally see what we need to."

It all makes sense now. This meeting between us- I don't think it was pure coincidence. Nor was there just any reason for me to bring the puppets back to life. They came to me with a purpose, and I intend to fulfill that purpose.

This world is a cruel, dark place. It's an unforgiving, diabolical cesspool of hate and injustice, where the bad guys win and rise to the top and the good guys lose and are left in the dust to wither away. There is no peace, there is no harmony. Nobody truly cares as much as they say they do- they turn away whenever something horrible proves to be an inconvenience to them, only sparing their attention when they think they can use it to their own selfish advantage. Cities are filled to the brim with crime that goes unpunished while the victims rot away from their pain. The altruistic are left starving in cold apartments that are falling apart while the greedy continue to inherit and expand their wealth and fortune. Darkness has overtaken all, and the light is slowly dimming as evil inherits the Earth.

I intend to change that.

And the puppets are going to help me.

I understand now, why this relationship between us came about the way it had. They see it all, just like I do- they've been through the ringer just like I have. Wanting to help those in need and make the world a better place, only to be used, abused, and tossed away when they no longer "proved" to be useful to the plans of the selfish bastard controlling them. And they see that that all needs to change. That's why they kill- they refuse to let the wool be pulled over their eyes, and can see the terrible people for what they truly are. They see that if you allow the scum of the earth continue to grow, they will only further poison the foliage before it can truly blossom.

I sneer darkly.

That's why they killed Kailani. That's why they killed the others.

Not that they didn't deserve it. That little bitch and her minions made mine and others' lives miserable for far too long. They all deserved exactly what they got. After all the times of shoving people in lockers, stealing homework and lunch money, putting shit in people's hair and making obnoxious remarks and beating people up on the playground, it was about time they got what was coming to them- I'm just mad that I couldn't be around to actually see it.

The only one that they went too far on was Carter. I admit it, I went overboard, and part of me still regrets that things happened the way they did. But surely, you can't blame a father for only wanting to protect his children, can you? We do all sorts of crazy things for the ones we love, even if that means setting side our own humanity for time to time. Not that I had anything against Carter- out of all of them, I hope he gets it good in the afterlife.

But the others? Good fucking riddance. It's not like anyone else actually cared about them. Who the hell would miss them? Their families? Don't make me laugh. Kailani's mom is nothing more than a down and out drunk who'd rather hit it up with strangers at the bar than put up with her hellspawn- not that I can blame her. Tony and Holden? Their families are nothing more than white trash who try to act like they got it made. Sadie's mom speaks for herself. And Mr. Frost…well, if he wanted people to feel bad for them, making he should've tried a little harder to be nicer to people.

Jester looks up at me, big blue eyes wide with fear. I stroke his head. I set all of them back on the bed and kneel down, stroking their heads.

"Do not worry, my friends," I say softly, giving them the first genuine smile I've had in a while, "I'm all right. In fact I've never been better.

"It's all thanks to you," I say, "You didn't have to stay here, and yet here you are, keeping up with me after things I've had to put you through. And through all the hard times, you've persevered. My amazing, wonderful pupets."

Leech Woman gives me a small smile, though I can still see the confusion in her expression. I softly stroke her hair. She'll need a new outfit- her dress has been polka dotted with blood.

Audrey and the others were wrong about them. My puppets are not monsters, they are not bloodthirsty. They are merely children trying to do their best to survive. Many would claim it's barbaric, having to gather brain matter to survive, but who are they to judge? The puppets didn't ask to live this way, to be brought into this world. They certainly didn't ask to be put in the care of cruel masters who would only treat them like weapons, and try to ignore the souls that rely in them. If they react in a way that many would deem savage, it is only the fault of the people who brought them up that way. The people who only see objects instead of living beings, who only want to use them. That, to me, is truly monstrous.

So it's only fair to help them.

To help them as much as they help me.

I take another look at my hand. I frown; my knuckle's starting to really throb, and blood's run down onto my palm and dripped onto the covers. I wipe it away on a discarded shirt and dig around in my drawers for the spare bandages I keep.

The puppets are watching me the entire time. I smile back at them once I have my hand wrapped, kneeling again at the foot of the bed.

"Some things are going to change around here, my friends," I say, "And I think I'll need your help. There are many things we need to get done- the biggest thing being making a new batch of formula for you. But I've never made it before, so I don't think I should do it all by myself."

I hold out my hand, "What do you say? Would you all be willing to give your Master a helping hand?"

They all look at each other, before they glance back to me. Their eyes are wide with excitement, and they all nod as they put their tiny hands in mine. I close my fingers over them, giving a smile in return.

On the inside of my mind, the dark part of me smirks darkly.

Oh, yes. Things are definitely going to change around here.

We'll show them.

We _will_ show every last one of them.


	40. Mr Hyde

**Chapter XXXIX: Mr. Hyde**

"Josie, why aren't you eating?"

Paul wrapped his hands against his coffee mug, leaning against the counter. He lifted his head at the question, watching as his wife made her way over to the table, where the little girl in question sat, a plate of breakfast that looked hardly touched in front of her.

"Josie?" Max repeated, her brow crinkled in concern as she looked down at her daughter.

Josie wouldn't look at her; Paul noted the way her eyes nervously darted around the floor, like she were afraid of looking up at her mother. He could see her hands fiddle with hem of her shirt from under the table. She swallowed, before she slowly responded, "I'm…I-I'm not hungry."

Max tilted her head in confusion. "But it's blueberry pancakes, your favorite! Are you sure?"

"I'm sure," the strawberry blonde said in a low voice, almost inaudible as she dug her chin into her collarbone.

Paul frowned. Maxine had brought it up to him before, but it was obvious that Josie had not been herself in the last couple of weeks. Along with various calls from her school reporting a new behavior of becoming unfocused and isolating herself from her classmates, it seemed like she was coming down with a case of insomnia, having woken him or Max up during the night at least a few times a week, either due to nightmares or wetting the bed. Paul had yet to voice it, but from cleaning the dishes, it was becoming apparent she was starting to eat less as well.

" _I don't know what to do, Paul,"_ Max cried to him one night, " _She's never acted like this, not even when Sean died."_

" _This is the second time she's lost someone close to her,"_ Paul had told her, holding her close, " _She doesn't quite understand it and she's holding in all her emotions and it's starting to take a toll."_

He had managed to convince her it would be best to send Josie to a grief counselor, help her work through her mourning in a healthy way.

"Oh," he heard Max reply, breaking him from his thoughts, "Well, do you think you could take a few more bites? Just a few more?"

" 'm not hungry," Josie murmured, though she begrudgingly picked up her fork and began to cut little pieces off of the pancakes with its edge.

Max, seemingly pleased with this, nodded. She wrung her hands, lifting her head and catching Paul's gaze; he could still see a hint of sadness in her electric blue eyes. She let out a breath and looked at her watch. He observed as she looked over her shoulder at the stairs, a small frown pulling at her mouth, though her eyes held concern. His eyes followed her as she left Josie's side and made her way to the bottom of the staircase, putting her hands out on either side of her.

"Gaelin!" she called up, "Are you almost ready? It's almost-"

"I'm coming, I'm coming," a voice cut her off, heavy footsteps pounding on the steps, before Paul saw his stepson make his way around the corner.

Paul raised his eyebrows. Usually, he could expect Gaelin to come down in a t-shirt and pants that he had probably worn the day before- both of which made him look even skinnier, the way they hung off his shoulders and waist, his hair still a tangled mess of bedhead and often not even washed, his shoulders scrunched up and his back always slightly bent like he was trying to retreat into his jacket.

Today, though, Gaelin seemed to have actually taken the time to look decent: he had showered and combed his hair into a straight, though slightly spiked up style. A white t-shirt peered out from the dark blue plaid button up he wore, which he paired with black jeans and matching sneakers. He even saw a few braided bracelets hang off of his wrist.

The biggest difference, Paul noted with surprise, was the way Gaelin carried himself. Instead of his usual hunched over posture, Gaelin walked straight, his head high and eyes looking forward, completely lacking of the usual withdrawn, lethargic teen Paul had living with for the past six months. Now, Gaelin carried himself with an air of good spirit for once.

 _Speaking of people changing,_ the voice in the back of Paul's voice remarked sarcastically. That made him swallow hard. The words he'd been meaning to say to Max, the topic at hand he'd yet to approach with still hung in the back of his throat.

Maxine seemed as equally surprised, her eyes slightly widening as Gaelin gave her a kiss on the cheek before making his way over to the refrigerator, giving Paul but a curt nod before pulling out eggs and butter. Paul caught Max's eye, and they shared a look of surprise before Max turned back to her son.

"Well, someone certainly dressed nicely today," she said as she watched Gaelin prepare himself toast and scrambled eggs, "Something going on?"

Gaelin shrugged, looking over his shoulder, "Not really. Just feeling myself today, I guess."

Paul gave him a look, looking at Gaelin's back as he prepared his food. Paul looked at Max, but she continued to watch Gaelin as he got his plate and sat at the table, reaching for the pitcher of apple juice and pouring himself a glass.

"Well, that…that's good," Max commented, "Did you…sleep well?"

"Eh," Gaelin commented, picking up his fork, "I slept all right. I had to stay up a little while to finish up my final project."

He started eating, taking several big mouthfuls of toast and eggs, before washing it down with his juice. Paul had a thought flash in his mind that this seemed to be the most he'd ever seen Gaelin eat- remembering the many nights he remarked on not feeling hungry and leaving his food to be wasted as it was thrown into the garbage. He raised a brow, curious.

"Hey, Mom, are you planning on going into town when you get off of work?" Gaelin asked suddenly looking up at his mom.

Maxine looked at him in surprise, "Well, yes, I need to get groceries…why?"

"Could you give me a ride to the art shop on your way? I need to pick up more painting supplies," he answered.

Paul raised an eyebrow, glancing towards Max to see the same surprised expression on her face.

Gaelin hardly ever wanted to leave the house, let alone _suggested_ going somewhere. Especially in a car. Hell, Paul didn't think once since he moved into this house that he ever witnessed Gaelin drive once, and when he did have to ride in a car, it was often with an overwhelming fear of something going wrong.

Maxine blinked, before she shook her head, stammering, "U-Uh, y-yeah, of course!"

Gaelin smiled, "Thanks."

"I want to come too," Josie spoke up, looking back and forth between her mother and brother. "Can I, Mommy?"

"O-Oh! Of course you can, Josie!" Max said, still looking a little bit caught off guard by Gaelin's sudden question.

Paul frowned as he watched Gaelin go back to his plate, casually eating in silence.

Something wasn't right, here. The boy before him…who was this? A doppleganger? A changeling from the old stories his mother used to read him? This certainly wasn't the Gaelin he remembered saying goodbye to when he and Max went to the dinner party last night. Gaelin almost _never_ started a conversation on his own, and when he was addressed by someone else, his answers were always a jumbled mess of shy, confused stuttering, a mumbled answer normally consisting of only one or two words, as most of his sentences tended to trail off into nothingness.

So why this sudden change? Why now?

Maxine, however, seemed to have the complete opposite reaction, sapphire blue eyes sparkling with growing excitement as a smile stretched onto her face as she observed her son eating. She walked into the pantry, and Paul noted the little prance in her step. As she passed Gaelin, she gave his shoulder a light squeeze of affection, making the blonde give her a little smile over her shoulder.

Gaelin reached out and picked up his glass. Paul's eyes narrowed when he noticed a plethora of band-aids on his hand, two making an X-shape across his middle knuckle, while smaller circle-shaped ones covered the skin around it and at the base of his fingers.

 _He didn't have those at all yesterday, when you saw him,_ his mind whispered to him.

"'Lin, what happened to your hand?" he asked warily. Something told Paul that they had- _had_ to- something to do with this sudden change in behavior in his stepson.

"I fell off my bike coming home from work," Gaelin responded without missing a beat.

Paul frowned at the answer.

There was something not quite right with that answer. Maybe it was how quickly and nonchalantly Gaelin answered it, or maybe it was the fact he said it with fully annunciating his words for once instead of stumbling over them in his reluctance to be the center of attention. Either way, it was definitely not an answer Paul was expecting, nor frankly was it one he was pleased with.

"Oh?" he instead inferred, "Speaking of that, what time did you get home? You were in the shower awfully late?"

"Probably about eight or so. I took a nap, then I went to the store to get some stuff for dinner."

Paul raised his eyebrow at him. There was just something in his tone- the quickness of the responses, how he gave them out without having to think it over…it all just sounded so rehearsed.

"Funny, I didn't see any dishes in the sink," Paul said over his shoulder as he turned to rinse out his mug, feeling like he finally had him.

"I got some microwavable stuff to get in the oven," Gaelin responded, though there was a hint of annoyance in his voice now.

He persisted, "Really now? What did you eat? Because I didn't see-"

"Oh, Paul, leave him alone," Max said playfully- though he didn't miss the slight warning tone lacing her words, "Probably just wanted to have a little fun by himself is all. Nothing wrong with that."

"Yeah, Paul," Gaelin commented, "Just having a little fun. Besides, you shouldn't be stressing yourself out over the littlest things. Stuff like that causes hair loss."

Paul whirled around at the last statement, shocked at the latter comment.

He was even more surprised at the overwhelming hostility that glared back at him. Gaelin had turned in his seat, his head slightly tilted down as he fixed Paul with a menacing glower. Paul took a small step back as pale green eyes stared him down like a predator in the woods coming across a threat. Or a challenge. Yes, that's what the look was- a challenge. Gaelin could tell he was onto him, and whereas any other parent would've seen was fear or paranoia of their child being found out, all that Paul found was instigation. Like Gaelin was _daring_ him to keep pressing him.

"Oh god, look at the time!" Maxine suddenly exclaimed, "Boys, you both should get going. You don't want to be late."

"No we don't," Gaelin replied to her, not taking his eyes off his stepfather as he stood up, walking over to the sink and putting his dishes in. Paul stared back at him, his fingertips digging into his coffee.

Gaelin just glared, finally turning around.

"Gaelin, wait," Paul suddenly said, grabbing his arm. The blonde turned back to him, giving him an exasperated look.

"Are you…" he suddenly found himself rather nervous, like he almost didn't want to ask the question in fear of the response, "Are you okay?"

Gaelin narrowed his eyes, before he raised his eyebrows, like the question itself was a weird one.

"I'm just fine, Paul," he said lightly, before he roughly tugged his arm loose and turned his back.

Paul watched him go, a sinking feeling in his chest. The suspicions that had been swimming around in his head since last week came back at him.

He needed to talk to Max, and soon…

* * *

Picking at the flaking polish on her nails, Audrey looked at the digital clock that sat above the sign-in office near the front of the commons area. She frowned when she saw that she only had five minutes before the first warning bell rang. She looked around the commons one more time; still no sign of the familiar tall blonde. She tapped her fingers against her arm impatiently. Dammit, where was he?

"You keep frowning like that, you're gonna be more wrinkly than a grandma," Virgil said beside her, eyes never leaving the screen of his phone.

Audrey looked at him.

"I'm just worried about him," she muttered, "I mean, after yesterday. I've never seen him, so…angry."

Virgil cast her a glance from the side, shrugging before he went back to his phone. "Can't say I really blame him. If I had been excused of being a murderer and everyone try to act like tough shit against me, I would've snapped on all they asses already."

Audrey sighed, and softly replied, "That's what worries me."

Her eyes suddenly caught a flash of pale blonde bobbing through the crowd. Her head raised, and she lifted herself off the table to follow it. Sure enough, Gaelin popped out through an empty spot, a neutral look on his face as he walked with his hands in his pockets.

"Gaelin!" she called out, waving her hand, "Over here!"

His head raised at the sound of his name, and his eyes scanned the crowds until they fell on Audrey. He nodded briefly, making his way towards them.

"Hey, guys, what's up?" he greeted with small smile as he stood in front of them.

Virgil mumbled, "Ready to get this day over already and hit me up some good BK."

Audrey rolled her eyes. Gaelin chuckled, "Yeah, I know that feeling."

He sighed and looked around at the banners that hung on the ceiling, displaying the various quotes and years of the graduating classes before them. "Can't wait until I'm finally out of here."

Audrey looked at him, thinking back to the scene she had witnessed with him yesterday. A small niggle of guilt settled in her chest when she thought back to his words.

"What about you, bruh?" Virgil continued, raising his head slightly, "You got any plans today?"

Gaelin shrugged, "Not really. Just gonna head into town with my mom, get some shopping done."

He looked at her, "What about you, Audrey?"

Audrey blinked, looking down at her hands to try and snap out of her thoughts. "Well, my mom's actually taking me to the history museum today; it's her first day as the guide, and she wanted me to be there. Moral support and all, you know."

Gaelin nodded, "Well, that sounds fun. Let me know if you learn any co-"

He was suddenly cut off as someone passing behind him suddenly shoved him out of the way, making him stumble, almost falling right into the table in front of them. Audrey stood up in alarm. "Gael!"

She shot her head up, looking at the person responsible. She frowned when she saw Bruce Cummings, one of Holden's friends, stomp by, not even sparing them a second glance. She was about to get up, all ready to give him a piece of her mind, before Gaelin got his footing and turned sharply towards the linebacker.

"Hey!"

Audrey looked at him in surprise. Gaelin had his back straight, his fists clenched at either side of his waist as he glared at Bruce's back; he looked ready for confrontation, definitely not something that was characteristic of Gaelin. Bruce stopped, slowly looking over his shoulder, a look on his face like he couldn't be bothered.

"What?" he asked.

Gaelin frowned, "You mind watching where you're going next time? Or maybe saying 'Excuse me?'"

Bruce snorted, "Maybe _you_ shouldn't block the path. People have to get going, you know."

"It's not blocking the path just because you're the size of a semi, Cummings," Gaelin barked back.

Audrey whipped her head. "G-Gaelin!"

He didn't acknowledge her, keeping his gaze on Bruce, a defiant glare on his face as he frowned deeply. She looked at Virgil, finding him staring at Gaelin with the same amount of surprise; his mouth hanging open and his eyebrows raised to the top of his forehead.

Bruce, not missing the jab, turned on his toe, fixing Gaelin up with a look that suggested he was trying not to sock the blonde. Bruce's hazel eyes blazed as he let his backpack slide off his shoulder, abandoning it to drop on the floor as she stomped over to Gaelin, the two almost nose to nose.

"What did you say?" he questioned, his tone dangerously low.

Gaelin didn't even hesitate as he shot back, "You heard me. Unless you need to get your hearing checked, too?"

A small echo of 'oooooh' went through the cafeteria as others gathered around, taking notice of the staredown between the two boys; many wore eager looks, giddy to see what would happen next, while others glanced between them nervously. Audrey frowned at them when she noticed some were palming their phones, like they were anticipating a fight and wanted to be ready to get everything on camera.

Bruce's nostrils flared like an angry warthog as he gritted his teeth. "You really want to be getting slick with me, Killough?"

"That depends, Cummings," Gaelin said, "You ever gonna be anything other than dick for once?"

Bruce clenched his fists, "Up yours, man. You think just 'cuz you got Holden and Kailani out of the way you're suddenly hot shit and can do whatever you like? You're nothing but a pussy trying to speak big words-"

"Funny," Gaelin scoffed, "I could say the same about you. What's the matter, 'Brucie'? Daddy get you particularly hard with the belt last night, and you need validation to still feel like the tough hard man for the ladies?"

A shocked gasp went through the crowd, and Audrey whipped to stare at Gaelin.

Who was this boy standing in front of her right now?

Bruce's eyes went wide at the remark, before they suddenly narrowed and his jaw clenched, his face quickly starting to turn a deep, beet red. He lunged and grabbed Gaelin by the front of his shirt, pulling the blonde close until their noses were almost touching.

"You better shut your fucking mouth, blondie," he snarled, "Before I rearrange that big mouth of yours."

"Am I supposed to be scared?" Gaelin growled back.

The crowd waited with baited breath, the tension in the air thick as they awaited for what would happen next. Audrey stared back and forth between them, particularly lingering on Gaelin. Where had this sudden courage come from? This sudden mouthing off and resorting to low blows? Gaelin was never openly confrontational with someone, as far she knew, seemingly being the type to hold it in and silently vent to themselves later. The only time she ever saw him act otherwise was with Sadie, and even then it had been after constant prodding. And he especially never seemed like the person to go for below the belt.

"Are we having a problem here, gentlemen?" a voice suddenly asked, and eyes turned to see a teacher that Audrey recognized as Mrs. Dwight standing off to the left, the latter's arms crossed as she looked between the two boys.

Gaelin and Bruce both gave her stony glares, before they went back to giving each other their best looks of death.

"No, ma'am," he answered, "There's not a problem. Not a problem at all."

"Good, because I would hate to have the front office having to spend their time writing tardy slips because _some_ students didn't want to get to class on time," Mrs. Dwight responded, saying the last part particularly loud as she looked around at the crowd of student.

As if emphasizing her point, right then the morning bell rang.

Gaelin shrugged, "Sounds fine by me."

He readjusted his backpack, before stepping around Bruce and moving past him, though he made a point to knock shoulders with the larger football player. Other students stepped back from him, starting to part like the red sea as he moved towards them.

"Everyone knows it was you," Bruce suddenly called out to him over his shoulder, before he sharply turned around.

Gaelin stopped not looking at him.

"We all know it!" Bruce continued, "The cops may not want to do a damn thing, but everyone knows you had it out for both of them! So-so why don't you just confess already, huh?! Nobody's buying your bullshit alibi! Don't you even care? Haven't you considered at all what Kailani's and the rest of their families are going through?!"

"That's quite enough, Bruce," Mrs. Dwight sharply scolded.

Audrey looked at Gaelin. He still hadn't turned around. The others in the crowd were looking at him, their eyes wide, wondering what he'd do.

After a moment, Gaelin looked over his shoulder, a defiant sneer on his face. His eyes were darker, as if the rage hidden beneath the surface had spilled into their green color.

"No, I don't care," he said coldly, "Because Kailani's dead either way. Sorry to disappoint you."

The crowd stared at him in appalled silence- Audrey looked over and saw even Mrs. Dwight fix him with a stare of her own astonishment.

With that, Gaelin turned around, looking ahead.

"Move," he told two freshmen as he pushed them out of the way. The rest of the crowd followed, parting like the red sea as everyone watched him grow. Bruce stared at him, shock mixed with disgust freezing him in place.

Mrs. Dwight shook her head, looking around.

"Okay, okay, there's nothing to see here," she announced as she gestured for the students to move, "Everyone get to class before I give you detention."

Slowly, the crowd picked up their things, and hesitantly began leaving the commons area, heading for their respective classes. Audrey watched as some girls came up to Bruce, concern on their faces as they put their hands on his arm. Bruce shook his head at them, muttering something she couldn't hear before he grabbed his bag and marched off, though his face was still read with fury; a few of the girls followed after him.

Audrey looked back at where Gaelin went off to, shaking her head with slight disbelief.

She felt a presence next to her, and looked to the left to see Virgil standing beside her, looking in the same direction.

He let out a small whistle, "Damn. Homeboy's not pulling any punches today."

"I don't get it, where did this come from?" Audrey asked, "I've never seen him like that before. I mean, he's been angry, but never…hurtful."

Virgil shrugged, "Who knows. Maybe he got tired of all the bullshit everyone was giving him. Maybe this is really him, and he's just finally letting it show."

 _Maybe he isn't anywhere close to who you thought he was,_ a little voice in the back of Audrey's head suggested. She tried to shrug it away.

She didn't want to believe that. Gaelin wasn't that type of person, she had seen it. When she had first moved to town, she had seen him plenty of times with his former friends before the car accident their junior year. He wasn't ever a mouthy, arrogant person. He was nice and kind, he was…

 _He WAS, keyword,_ the voice repeated, _But people do change. And it's not always for the better…._

She swallowed. She hoped that wasn't true.

But there was a little feeling, something that told her she didn't know anything at all.

* * *

Paul sighed as he tapped his fingers against the steering wheel, waiting for the light to turn. It had been, for the most part, a pretty uneventful day. The Hanson case had pretty much gone nowhere and was delayed for another two weeks, his client who was suing her neighbors for breaking her fence had been open and shut, and his case at three that was supposed to help settle child support payments cancelled last minute. For the most part, he was left with mostly paperwork to get done.

Which left him a lot of time to be alone with his thoughts. Especially his thoughts of how he was going to approach the thing that had been on his mind lately.

The light turned red, and Paul pressed on the gas, going a few feet before flipping his turn signal, looking behind him to make sure he was clear. He merged into the other lane, sitting back as he kept his eyes on the road. As he settled into a good speed going straight, his mind began to drift.

Specifically, towards his stepson.

Paul's mouth turned into a straight line at the thought- inwardly he was already dreading the discussion he was going to try and have with Max, knowing that there was a three-quarters chance that the second he brought up Gaelin, Max would shut him down and brush off his concerns. She'd probably even cuss at him, accuse him of just trying to change Gaelin to his personal liking.

 _But it's not like that,_ he told himself, _It was never about that._

He loved Gaelin. Truly and dearly, he loved him and cared about him. He was the son of one of Paul's best friends, and through the years, Paul had thought of him and Josie like they were almost family, like a niece and nephew; as he and Max bonded through their grief and they ended up falling in love, that feeling only grew, and though Paul was wary of possible rejection from either of them as he came into the family- not that he would blame them, it was only natural to be hostile when a new face was taking on the role of someone you had lost- they welcomed him enough. Paul was determined to make sure neither of them ever forgot their father, and tried his best to make it clear that while Sean would never be replaced, they could also come to him in their time of need and healing.

Which was _why_ he had become so concerned with Gaelin's behavior and this whole debacle concerning the toy collection the last few months.

He knew fully well of Gaelin's interests when and Maxine got together- Sean had actually been the one to let it slip, telling of him and his son's weekend adventures during a backyard barbecue a few years ago. And while the idea of an almost legal adult getting hung up on collecting and making playthings meant for little girls closer to his sister's age was something that Paul had a few opinions on, he let it go, at first. It was just a hobby, no one was getting hurt. Besides, Gaelin always paid with his own money, and at least he was keeping it constricted to one space. Out of sight, out of mind.

But that all seemed to change the second he ordered those stupid puppets.

At first, Paul tried to pay it no mind. The night where he had woken both him and Max up probably was just from reading a scary story, the little nervous slides to the puppets every time Paul or someone else was in the room could've been just a natural habit- Gaelin always did struggle with the habit of eye contact after Sean's death. The sounds of talking he could easily dismiss as the TV running, or Gaelin maybe talking on the phone.

The day that Gaelin came home crying with the remains of a broken doll in his hand, though, was the day that Paul thought there was more to this story. More than his stepson was willing to let on.

He frowned when he thought back to the memory.

Gaelin had screamed that he treated him badly, told him he didn't care about him, told Paul that he hated him.

Paul swallowed hard.

It was also when he first suspected something was very, very wrong.

Gaelin started spending more and more time in his room. Paul could hear him talking through the doorway of his room that was beyond little self comments; more like a discussion with someone who wasn't there, complete with pauses in between and little chuckles at nonexistent jokes. He started getting more on edge when people came into the room. Like there was something in there that risked being seen. He became more and more engrossed in his collection, treating them almost like children. It was like with each passing day, Gaelin grew more obsessed, and it got to the point Paul felt like he was almost weeding out people for them, preferring their still-life, posed for style silence over the company of real people and real life. He'd hardly ever leave- not even to spend time with his own mother or Josie.

And the whole time, those stupid little puppets would be everywhere. Posed like they were in the middle of something. Like some kind of Toy Story gimmick. And each time, when he came to the room, Gaelin would cut off this little 'discussion' he was having with himself- a discussion that would pick up each time Paul left the room.

Maxine told him she thought allowing Gaelin to keep the collection in his room would help him to cope. But Paul thought all it was doing was making him worse and more reclusive than ever.

Eventually, he had grown tired of treading on eggshells; it took tooth and nail, but finally he was able to convince Max that this behavior wasn't healthy. Gaelin had every right to still be fragile after what happened to his dad, but he needed coping mechanisms that would help him heal, not vices that seemed to only damage his mental health.

Then there was the day of the fight, and from where Paul stood, it only cemented the fact that Gaelin's dependency on them was far too much. His relationship- or whatever the hell you called it when the other involved wasn't real- with those damn puppets was too much.

And if Max wasn't going to listen to him, then he had to do it himself.

A sudden chill went down Paul's spine when he thought back to that day. His grip on the steering wheel tightened.

He had made sure to do it when neither Gaelin nor his mom were near the house- if either of them caught him in the middle of the act, he'd never hear the end of it. And while Josie was probably none the wiser to the tension in the house, he couldn't trust her not to rat him out. So when Gaelin had to be woken up early for a doctor's appointment, he saw a golden opportunity.

The plan had been simple: he'd gather up the puppets and give them to Arthur, who shared his stance on Gaelin's rather unhealthy dynamic when it came to the toys. Gaelin would come home, probably see them missing, and there would be a fight, no doubt. Paul had thought it over time and time again- Gaelin would scream at him, probably even throw a few things, tell him he hated him and give him a sailor's mouthful. Maxine would take his side, and Paul would explain over and over again it was for the best; they both agreed that Gaelin should spend some time apart with the dolls being in such close proximity, and it had rapidly become clear he was taking it too far. They would both be furious with him, and for weeks, if not even a few months, he'd be public enemy number one. Gaelin'd probably give him the cold shoulder.

Which was all fine with Paul. Some may have called it cruel, but they had done nothing for too long, and it all it did was let Gaelin's health deteriorate even more; sometimes you had to be the bad guy if it meant helping the ones you loved, and Paul would be willing to be the bad guy if it meant Gaelin finally getting proper help.

But now Arthur was dead- dead on the very same day that Paul gave the puppets to him- and the puppets somehow ended up right back in Gaelin's possession.

A lump formed in Paul's throat.

Since then he hadn't gotten it out of his head.

He tried to come up with an explanation to it all- it had to be coincidence. A LOT of coincidence, sure, but that was all it had to be. Gaelin was gone the whole time, he had absolutely no idea of where the puppets were. The thought itself was ludicrous; his stepson was a teenager with depression, not a heartless psychopath, especially not someone willing to murder a defenseless old man over some mere children's toys.

….Was he?

Paul shook his head. The thought wouldn't leave him be. There was no way, though. Even if he wasn't so obsessed, Gaelin had an aversion to any kind of graphic scene. He had a near phobia of blood and any display of gore made him sick to his stomach. There was no way he could commit murder.

But…at the same time, Gaelin had never been violent, either. He had certainly never mouthed off to Paul before, openly disrespected him. He had never been so…angry. So…full of hate.

Until now, when he was getting into fights at school and brushing off an exploding car like it was no big deal.

Paul's mouth thinned. He made another plan to talk to Max about it, but he had yet to figure out how to approach her. He struggled to figure out how he would even tell her about his plan to give the puppets to Arthur without her immediately shutting him down and lashing out at him for invading Gaelin's privacy.

The familiar faded blue shingles on the side of the house came into view as he turned the corner, and Paul turned the corner as he glided into the driveway. He made his way up the porch, the thought of the confrontation weighing heavily on his mind.

He didn't want to believe Gaelin was anything. But there was a little trickle in his head that wouldn't leave him alone, that told him there was way more to the story than he was seeing.

Walking into the house, he took note of the silence that greeted him. "Max? Honey?"

He walked around the corner and poked his head into the kitchen. The place where Max usually left her handbag when she was home was still empty. He saw a plethora of paper bags near the pantry that weren't from there, inferring that the grocery shopping had already been done. He opened the door and looked into the garage. His brow crinkled in confusion when he saw Max's car was inside. Where was she?

Removing his shoes, Paul started up the stairs, calling out again, "Maxine? You there?"

Getting up the hallway, he went straight for his bedroom, ready to get out of the sweltering workclothes and into his favorite lounge pants. As he put his hand on the doorknob, however, he paused as he heard a sound. Something faint coming from the far end of the hallway. Where Gaelin's room resided.

Taking a deep breath, he slowly trekked down the hall, moving as quietly as he could to keep listening to the sound; his socked feet made no noise on the carpeted floor as he moved closer to the door. It became louder and clearer as he approached.

It sounded like talking. As he drew near enough to touch the doorknob, he pressed his ear to the door. He was surprised to hear Gaelin inside, talking.

" _You gotta be real careful around the eyes…make sure you get all the little crevices and that the color is in just the right place…hey, give me a break here, I haven't done this in a while…oh, don't give me that look!...Oh, you think you can do better? Well then, go ahead!...I'd love to see you try!...Yeah, that's what I thought…Oh, yeah, walk away! You know I'm right, Torch!"_

He could hear Gaelin chuckling after this remark.

Paul frowned. He swore he could hear little sounds- somewhat like a snake's hissing- that came after every time Gaelin talked.

But no matter what it was, it still Gaelin talking to himself. Again.

Paul sighed.

He raised his hand and knocked on the door.

All talk suddenly ceased, and for a second there was absolute silence.

"Yes?" Gaelin called out from the other side. There was a hint of exasperation in his tone.

Paul grabbed the handle and pushed the door open, popping his head in first.

Gaelin was sitting at his desk, the puppets- those goddamned puppets- gathered around him, posed to sit on books and cases like a bunch of schoolchildren listening to the teacher at storytime. A plethora of art supplies was scattered around within arm's reach, and Paul was surprised to see Gaelin holding what looked like a head mold of a doll. An open case of watercolor paints, a glass of discolored water and a paper towel- marked with multicolored stains- sat in front of them; he held a small brush in his hand, which was currently hovering over the doll head's empty eye socket.

As soon as Paul caught his eye, he was surprised to see Gaelin's already annoyed gaze turn venomous, the blonde frowning in irritation as he turned away from his stepfather, focusing back on the head in his hands.

"What do you want?" he asked impatiently as he went back to painting.

Paul stared at him for a moment, before he shook his head, trying to think of what to say.

"Um, uh," he stuttered for a moment, "W-Where is your mother?"

"She took Josie to the park," Gaelin said, not looking at him. He slowly stroked the brush against the doll's nose, before dipping it in the red paint before going over the doll's lips, "Mom thought it might do her good to get out of the house."

"Oh," was all Paul could say.

He rubbed the back of his neck, trying to think of something else to break the silence. "So…you guys already went to the store?"

"Yep," was the short reply.

"Good….good…" he said. Damn, this was not the way he had planned on things going.

He leaned against the back of the door, nodding his head. "You're…making a new doll?"

"If it looks like I am, then I probably am," Gaelin replied, keeping his gaze on the head.

There was an intensity in his eyes that Paul had never seen before, his eyes shining with a focus like he registered nothing else in the room but the work at hand.

On any other day, Paul would've been a bit amazed. But now, all he could feel was a slight pang of concern that slowly grew with every snappy remark Gaelin gave him.

"That…that's good," he said, trying to break off the awkward silence, "It's nice to be able to get back into old hobbies."

Gaelin said nothing.

Looking around the room, Paul observed all the various toys that stared emptily back at him. Jesus, how did Gaelin handle all these pairs of eyes every day? It was creepy, the way the dolls' gazes seemed to follow you, especially when it came to the more realistic looking ones.

A flicker of movement near the window caught his eye, and Paul was startled to see one of Gaelin's puppets sitting on the windowsill. It was robotic in appearance, with a metal head that had a single point sicking out, and red eyes that looked like the headlights in a car. Metal jaws lined with what looked like fake bullets hung open, the puppet dressed in a simple trenchcoat, pants, and boots. It was positioned so that its face was directly looking at Paul.

Paul took a step back. He could've sworn for a second something had moved near it.

"That…th-that's funny," he attempted to joke, trying to hide how unnerved he suddenly felt, "G-Great joke to play on someone-"

"Is there something you need?" Gaelin finally turned in his chair and looked at him.

Paul turned. Gaelin stared at him, his mouth a tight line, his eyes full of annoyance casted towards the man in front of him. Paul stared at him for a moment.

"Gael', don't be rude," he defended, "I'm just trying to have a conversation with you."

"Well, I'm not," the blonde snapped, "So can you please leave?"

Paul's mouth dropped open, and he stared at the boy in shock. Gaelin stared at him, raising his eyebrows as a gesture for him to get going.

"N-Now, you hold just one minute-"

"No, I'm not," Gaelin interrupted, "You came into my room, you wanted to know where Mom was, I told you, that's it. So, leave me alone already."

"Don't you talk to me like that-"

"Oh, here we fucking go again," Gaelin muttered as he went back to his desk, "Always the fucking authority you worry about."

"Gaelin, what's wrong with you?" Paul questioned, "Why the hell are you acting like this?"

"Acting like what, Paul?" was the question he got in return, "I'm not acting like anything. All I'm asking is my privacy, that's all."

"Gaelin…" he was at a loss for words. Over the course of him moving in, the two had had plenty of disagreements, but never did it get to an actual argument, save for the day Gaelin left school. And even then, Paul always had Maxine to play the middle ground for the both of them.

"Would you leave already? I'm in the middle of something and I don't like people breathing down my shoulder," Gaelin demanded as he sat down, hunching over the desk and grabbing the doll head, trying to get back to painting.

Paul shook his head in disbelief. Who…who was this talking to him right now? This wasn't Gaelin; this wasn't the sweet, shy, quiet boy he had known for most of his life. This…this was someone else.

"Gael', please," he begged, hating the way his voice sounded so high, "I'm..I'm worried about you-"

"I've heard that one before."

"Please, just…" Paul tried to figure out what he could say, how he could get to the bottom of why Gaelin suddenly seemed so aggressive, "Just talk to me, son-"

"I don't want to talk to you," Gaelin said brusquely, snapping around in his seat.

"Gaelin…" Paul trailed off, at a loss for words.

"Are you done yet? I'm in the middle of something, so if you have nothing else to do but to babble like a baby, I'd like to be getting back to work," he received as a response, Gaelin slightly huffing in response as he shot Paul one last look of malice over his shoulder, before turning back, picking up the head and brush and starting to pick up the painting again.

Paul gave him one last look, a large lump suddenly forming in his throat. The seed of dread in his chest had now blossomed into full fledged terror- but of what exactly? Of the thought that his theory of how Gaelin got the puppets back- no matter how implausible it might seem- suddenly started to seem more and more like the truth? Of the fact that this was a completely different person with his stepson's face? He clenched his jaw, feeling like he should say something in response, but feeling the words refuse to come out of his mouth.

With a nod, Paul just reached behind him, feeling the knob turn and the door open. He slowly backed out of the room, not taking his eyes off of Gaelin as he went out.

He shut the door, looking at the white paint of the wood, the scene replaying over and over again in his head.

" _God, he's a pain in the ass,"_ he heard Gaelin say once he was out of the room, " _…No, not him…at least not yet. I have…others in mind for who should be first….yes, Pinhead, I'm sure of it."_

He heard a small laugh, " _Yeah, I only wish…aw, thanks, buddy, you're the best."_

Paul swallowed hard. _Dear god, it's worse than I thought._

He backed slowly down the hallway, as if any minute the door would open and Gaelin or something else was going to pop out and maul him from behind. He didn't turn until he got to his bedroom, quickly pulling the door open and shutting the door behind him, pressing his back to it. He took a deep breath. Paul looked around his bedroom, his heart pumping.

Gaelin had certainly changed, and certainly not for the better. But had happened? He was acting nowhere near out of the ordinary just yesterday. It was literally like it had happened overnight.

Paul coughed, a nervous tickle in his throat.

And something told him this was nowhere near the end of it.

Rather, he had the feeling this was only the beginning of something much, much worse.


	41. The Abyss Stares Back

**Chapter XL: The Abyss Stares Back**

I take one last look in the mirror, adjusting my jacket. It's a bit hard to get a good look, considering I still haven't replaced the mirror and all I have to look into now is a bunch of broken shards, but it will have to do. It's not going to be of much use much longer, anyway. I grimace as the sunset outside sends a slight glare into them, getting right in the eyes. I feel the weight of the switchblade in my pocket. It's cold against my thigh, the cool metal seeping into my jeans. I think back to the other knife that's currently stored in my backpack- the one that's currently waiting in the garage with all the other supplies. The one that the puppets are currently waiting in.

I feel bad, having to keep asking them to become stuffed like potato chips in an aluminum bag. But it's an extra precaution that must be done. I can't trust Josie or that nosy twat Mom hired to not go exploring if one of the puppets just happens to make the wrong noise, or knock something over. I also want to go over the plan with them, explain everything one more time so we're all sure of what we're going to do. And the only way I'll get that is if we're somewhere we can be alone.

Besides, it won't be for that long. I look at the clock. 6:45. The sun is still setting.

It's all so simple, really. Go out, bullshit the hours away, come back and get rid of the babysitter, make sure Josie's out cold for the whole thing- I'd hate to have her walk in at the wrong moment.

And then, just sit and wait. Wait for him to show up, and BLAM! Finally give him a taste of my mind.

I smile darkly to myself. It's all coming together rather nicely. I admit, even I was a bit skeptical when I sent the e-mail of whether or not he'd reply. After all, it was rather sudden, and it's not like every day the child of the person you hit in an automobile crash invites you over to their house to 'talk.' But I guess pigs finally flew, because he did respond- and get this, even agreed!- and now all I have to do is play the waiting game.

Pulling the zipper up more, I smooth out the wrinkles, looking at my reflection.

This is it. This is finally the day. No turning back now.

I pat the switchblade, the feel of the smooth wood against my thumb bringing some kind of comfort to me. It's a bit unnecessary, considering I already have the puppets and other supplies with me, but it doesn't hurt to pack some extra protection. You can't know for sure if he buffed up in the year he's been up in the big house, or learned a thing or two from the local prison gang.

A little movement behind me makes me look back, I whip a glance over my shoulder.

To my surprise, Decapitron is standing on my bead, his little head casting a glare from the sunset that casts a slight iridescent glare on the walls. I furrow my brows. I could've sworn I packed him in with the others…

"What are you doing here, little buddy?" I ask softly as I trek over to him, "You should be downstairs with the others. Come on, we got to get goi-"

"Please, Gaelin, don't do this!" he suddenly shouts, and I jump back a little in surprise.

My hand freezes in the air, right in the middle to pick him up. He doesn't seem to notice, gesturing out towards me as he pleads again, "Please, Gaelin, there is another way!"

"How did you…"

It suddenly occurs to me that I recognize the voice, and I frown; sure enough, a few seconds later, Andre's blue eyed face is staring back at me, his eyes wide with a pleading, horrified expression.

"Please! You don't have to do this!" he begs, folding his hands together.

I roll my eyes, turning my back to him, heading over to my dresser to pick up some things.

"I'm not doing this with you right now."

"Gaelin!" Andre calls. I ignore him, going over to my dresser. I pick up my wallet and my phone, slipping them into my back pocket. I withdrew some cash from my account yesterday, so my wallet feels rather bulky when I do.

"Son, please, this isn't the way to go. There are so many different ways to handle this…t-this situation, but _this_ \- what you are about to do- is not one of them," he pleads.

I look over at him, leaning against the counter. I blink, "I'm just doing what's right, Andre. Doing my part to rid the world of this scum. Isn't that why you created the puppets in the first place? To make the world a better place?"

He stares at me for a second, horror filling his eyes, before he swallows and bows his head slightly.

"Gaelin, listen very carefully to me," he says in a low voice, "Whatever rage you may feel, whoever you think deserves what, it's not the way to go. You think it is, because you're hurting-"

"You don't know jack shit about what I'm feeling," I hiss at him, narrowing my eyes.

He goes on, "I know you think this is the way because you think they deserve to hurt. You've seen what the puppets have done, you've seen what they're capable of, a-and you think that you can use that to your advantage, that this-this is somehow a way to make others pay what you think is penance. You're angry, you want an eye for an eye, and you think the puppets will help you achieve that.

"I can tell you right now, though, Gaelin, they won't," he says, his eyes pleading with me, "Trust me, I've been there, I've felt that same bloodlust. But I realize even after killing those Nazis, it did nothing but create a void in me. I was sickened with what I'd done, that I made the puppets do such deplorable things for my own personal revenge. I never wanted them to be killers-"

"No, you were only too happy to use them and then throw them away to bring back your 'precious' Elsa," I spit, leaping off of the desk and stomping up to him.

Andre takes a surprised step back- he looks a bit afraid, even, like he thinks I might hit him- before he looks down, shame in his eyes at my statement.

"I've read about the people that died in '91, Andre, I _know_ how many people you had them kill," I continue, pacing the room, "They brought you back, they gave you life because they were scared, lost, because they didn't want to go into that little catatonia. And what did you do? You played them like a bunch of fools, making them shed blood that they thought was going to be for a good cause. They trusted you and you tossed them aside like yesterday's newspaper!"

"I-I-I never meant to," he stutters, "I-I wasn't-"

"You weren't what? 'Being yourself'?" I make air quotes, "Fucking spare me. You knew damn well what you were doing, you just didn't care. You thought that the puppets would be your good little henchmen, giving you what you want, killing the people that you thought fit best, and that when the time came, you could just yank the rug out from under their feet and leave them in the dust. I know plenty of people like you; you get your head stuck in your ass and walk all over those around you, and when the time comes to pay your dues, you get surprised when the people decide enough is enough."

"Gaelin, for God's sake, listen to yourself!" Andre exclaims, "If you go through with this, there's no turning back! The puppets are going to-"

"I'm doing what I can to help them!" I have to keep myself from screaming, "What do you expect I do? Let them waste away? Feed them animal parts and see them become nothing but savage animals of themselves? Absolutely not. They have been nothing but kind to me the day I got them. They need my help and I'm going to give it to them."

"By letting them kill innocent people?! Gaelin, if you do this, it will never end! You'll have to keep it up just so they can keep walking! You're practically falling right into Sutekh's hands!"

"Then so be it," I hiss, "They've helped me and now it's my turn to give it in return. Just because _you_ were too stupid to sleep in the bed you made doesn't mean I'm going to let them suffer for something that is not their fault. And if that means ridding the Earth of one deplorable piece of shit at a time, then well, all the better."

Andre stares at me, his mouth hanging open in shock. I roll my eyes; I have to say, I've grown quite tired of being stared at like I'm some kind of zoo animal.

"I'm done with this conversation," I remark, "If you're not going to help me, then leave."

"Gaelin-"

"I know my fucking name, _Andre_ ," I drawl out the last bit, "You're wasting my time. The puppets are waiting for me, so you can either shut the hell up and help me, or fuck off back to whatever the hell you crawled out of."

"Gael', please, think about this," he stutters out, "Whatever has happened, whoever got hurt, I can help you! We can figure something out, we can-"

Before he can get another word out, he suddenly lurches forward, like someone's socked him in the stomach. I raise an eyebrow. He looks up at me, fear making his eyes an even lighter blue as he looks at his hands. As I watch, I notice his head's become translucent, like he's fading in an out.

I scoff, "Guess the guys on top have already decided. Time to go, Andre. Don't let the door hit you on the ass on the way out."

"No, no! Not yet!" Andre begs, falling onto his knees, sobbing, "Gaelin, please, think about this!"

"I have. For a while actually," I call over my shoulder as I pull on my sneakers, my back to him.

"Gaelin, please, don't do this! You don't need to taint your hands like I did! If you do this, the stain on your soul will never leave! It will haunt you, follow you for the rest of your days! Sutekh will catch on soon enough! He's not someone any of you can face! He's not…"

He trails off, his words replaced by just the sound of frantic breathing. I turn around, watching as his face fades from view, before Decapitron's body falls onto its stomach, not moving for a couple of seconds. Then, as if what just happened didn't happen, his gun metal face pops up, looking at me like he doesn't have a clue of what just occurred.

I smile, taking a deep breath to try ad dispel the anger that's coursing through my veins at the moment.

"Hey there, little guy," I say gently, picking him up, "What are you doing up here? You should be downstairs with the others."

He just looks at me, clearly confused. I smirk at him, tucking him under my arm.

"Well, then, let's get going," I say, opening the door, "We've got a lot to do tonight. Gotta do some last minute shopping, kill some time, bullshit the babysitter, and then it'll be all ours.."

* * *

Audrey frowned as she checked her phone for what seemed like the fiftieth time that night. Her texts to Gaelin had still gone unanswered in the last three hours, and both times she called him it had gone straight to voicemail. She bit her lip.

She didn't know why she was feeling so on edge today. But something in her gut told her that it was important she talk to Gaelin tonight. She didn't know or understand why, but there was a prodding sensation in her, something that told her to do it.

Maybe it had to do with the way Gaelin had been acting the last few days. He just seemed so…unlike himself. Confident, mouthy, not a care in the world- definitely not the guy he had been just the week before. And she was starting to have a dreadful feeling there was something below the surface he had been hiding, something much worse-

"You're doing it again," Kimberly told her.

Audrey raised her head, staring at her from where she sat on Kim's bed. The raven-haired girl didn't look at her, her attention still focused on her reflection as she sat at her vanity, straightening her hair.

Audrey frowned, "Doing what?"

Kim replied, "You keep looking at your phone, and every time you do you start to look worried. Then you glance around at my posters like you're trying to distract yourself from doing it again."

Audrey blushed, "I-I do?"

"At least twice in the last twenty minutes. I've been watching you," Kim explained, running the straightener through the last bit of frizz before setting it down. She reached over, fumbling through a small box of lipstick tubes before pulling one out. She leaned forward to get a good look to start applying, before she finally looked at Audrey through her reflection. "So, what's up?"

Audrey sighed, glancing over at the small display of fairy figurines that decorated the top of Kim's bookshelf. She shrugged as she slipped her phone into the pocket of her shorts, "I don't know. Just been feeling a bit off today."

"It's about him, isn't it?"

She looked up, furrowing her brows in confusion. "About who?"

Kim rolled her eyes, "About Gaelin, silly."

She laughed as Audrey blushed. "Oh, don't be shy! I've seen that look before!"

Audrey gave her the finger, looking away in embarrassment. "It's just…I'm worried about him. He's been…different."

Kim dipped the applicator in the tube, bringing the applicator to her lips. She got a look, pondering the statement. "He has been kinda weird lately."

"It's like he's a whole new different person," Audrey commented, picking at a hole in her tights, "I mean, you heard what he said to Bruce? He sounded like he was trying to get into a fight. I don't know, I'm worried."

"Maybe he finally decided to take control of his life?" Kim suggested, "After all the shit he's gotten for Kailani and her friends, he probably got tired of being the scapegoat. I know I'd want to whoop some ass if I got labeled as a murderer."

"That's just the problem," Audrey responded, "It was just so _sudden._ Like the other day he was angry and ready to explode and then the next day, it was suddenly like he was untouchable."

Kim shrugged, recapping the lipstick and putting it back, "Can't say I blame him. There's only so much you can take."

Audrey nodded, staring at the bright orange glass eye of a dragon that wrapped around one of the fairies, "And that's what worries me."

Kim looked at her, staring at her for a couple of moments. She then shrugged, picking up a mascara wand and steadily applying it to her eyelashes.

"You know," she said, "You'd think with all the hovering you do that you two would go out on a date already."

Audrey sputtered, shooting up straight on her bed, staring at her with a look of such horror she might as well had suggested she gouge out her eyeballs.

Kim responded with a surprised look of her own, "What?"

"We're not…he's not…"she stammered.

Kimberly gave her a doubtful look, "He's not what? Come on, Aud, he clearly likes you. And something tells me if one of you actually got some balls and asked, maybe you'd, I don't know, grow to like him too."

"I-I already like him."

"I mean _like_ -like you…unless you've been secretly waiting for him to put a ring on it all this time," she said with at wink.

Audrey frowned, "Oh, shut up."

Kimberly stuck her tongue out at her, ducking at the fluffy pillow that was thrown at her. She looked up to see Audrey frowning, turning away from her in a huff, before her composure suddenly softened. There was she again, with the same old worried face. Kimberly rolled her eyes. Why her and Gaelin didn't just be honest with themselves and hook up was a wonder to her.

"Hey," she said as she reached out with her hand, lightly patting Audrey's knee. The orange-yellow haired girl looked up at her.

"Don't worry about it so much," Kim said, "Gaelin's a big boy, he can take care of himself. Now come on, we're gonna be late for the concert."

Audrey looked at her, not in the least bit convinced. But she shrugged, taking one last look at her phone before she got up and followed the brunette out of the bedroom, hearing the familiar sounds of Virgil's horn beeping from outside.

* * *

Miranda shivered as she walked home. She had underestimated the chill that was expected tonight, and was seriously regretting her choice to walk all the way from Radona Hill in her basic outfit of cut-off shorts and a t-shirt. She wrapped her arms around herself, bowing her head as a sudden wind barreled down the hill in an attempt to get warm. She groaned as goosebumps ran along her skin.

Why, out of all nights, did she decide to forego a jacket?

She pouted. "Well, it wasn't like I was planning on leaving this early, either," she mumbled to herself.

Miranda looked back down the street, grimacing when she thought back to the scene that had just occurred.

It was weird; Mrs. Saint Clair had told her that at the most, they wouldn't be back until probably three in the morning. Which wasn't that big of a deal, Josie was supposed to be in bed by eight-thirty anyway, Miranda was just needed to pretty much keep watch, she said. Which was absolutely fine with her; why not get paid to just sit around. Josie's brother, Mrs. Saint Clair had also told her, would be home somewhere after midnight, so he could easily take charge while Miranda had her mom pick her up. It was a simple night.

So when Miranda heard the front door open only a few minutes past 8:45 as she was coming down the stairs, the very last thing she expected to see was Josie's brother standing in the kitchen, telling her his apparent plans had been cancelled and she could go home.

Miranda frowned, thinking back to their brief conversation.

" _Are…are you sure you don't need me to stay longer?"_ she had asked them.

" _I'm already here, Josie's in bed, there's nothing left for you to do,"_ Josie's brother had told her in a short tone. There was a look in his eyes that creeped Miranda out, something that said he was probably not quite right.

" _Are you sure? Because if you want, I can just-"_

" _I'm sure. Go on, get the fuck out of here already."_

Miranda wrinkled her nose. Did he have to be so rude? And ugh, what was up with his eyes? Seriously a total creep.

Oh, well. Better for her, Miranda supposed. At least now she could actually hang out with Lexi like she had planned to.

Another gust of wind suddenly blew through the trees, and Miranda squealed as it ripped right through her person, her fingers and toes instantly going numb. She hunched over against the wind, picking up the pace as she ran up the hill.

* * *

The chipped gold paint of the graduation tassel briefly flashed as the streetlights reflected off of it. Isaac took a quick glance at it before turning his eyes back to the road. He looked at the clock on the dashboard. 9:32. He still had time.

It was probably a bit silly, going out of his way at this time of night to drop off a measly toy. But Maxine had called him earlier, asking if he could look in his car to see if Josie's favorite doll had been left in his car- " _It's something Gaelin made for her, she never sleeps without it"_ she had told him- and when Isaac had left over to see that sure enough, the clown doll was lying on its side in the middle, he had insisted on bringing it over.

" _Oh, Isaac, that's too kind, you don't need to do that,"_ she had said.

" _It's no big deal,"_ Isaac had told her, " _If it helps her sleep, who am I to keep it from her? Besides, it's always nice to drop in and see how my girl's doing."_

" _Oh, Isaac, thank you, thank you, thank you!"_ Maxine had endlessly.

Isaac smiled. He had meant it; it was always nice to see Josie, but their time together had been cut short the last few days with the stress of arranging Grandad's funeral and figuring out what to do with the house and talking with Josiah on where he would live once everything settled down. He had only seen her a few times since then, and often it was when he had time to go to their house.

He bit his lip. Besides, he was yearning for some…play time, if he was lucky enough to get alone with her. Going days on end without getting off could be rather frustrating.

It was also to ensure that she was keeping quiet. Maxine had told him on his last visit about several changes she had noticed in Josie, and he wanted to make sure that she wouldn't squeal.

" _It'll be our little secret,"_ Isaac had told her the first time he made his move, " _Promise you won't tell."_

Josie had looked at him with doubt- on the verge of tears, probably from a mix of guilt and fear- but had slowly nodded, raising her pinkie, " _I promise."_

Isaac adored her, but Josie was still a kid, and he could never be too careful that she wouldn't keep her mouth shut.

Turning the corner, he frowned as he pulled into the driveway of the house. It was noticeably dark for the time of night, except for a dim yellow light that came from far within the house. Not even the porch light was on. That couldn't be right- Maxine had told him that there was a babysitter watching Josie tonight. She had let her know he would be coming over, so all he needed to do was introduce himself. But right now, it looked like it was empty.

Walking up to the porch, the clown doll hanging from his hand, Isaac knocked on the door. No answer. He leaned to the left window, looking in. He couldn't see any lights on except for the one that lay above the sink in the kitchen. He knocked again.

A shrivel of worry went through Isaac. What if something happened? Maybe the babysitter had had an accident, or she was hurt. What about little Josie?

Isaac knocked a third time, this one much slower and harder. Still no answer.

He looked down at the door knob, gripping it and turning it slowly. It turned all the way with no resistance, indicating the door was unlocked.

He slowly pushed the door open, peering inside. Darkness greeted him, the kitchen light casting shadows across the floor.

"Hello?" he said, looking around. There was no movement anywhere. "Hel-lo?"

Isaac looked outside. There wasn't a car in the driveway.

"Hello? Miranda, is it?" he called out to the dark bottom, level, maneuvering his way in. He shut the door behind him. "My name's Isaac. Maxine said I was going to be coming to drop something off for Josie?...Hello?"

Silence was the only thing that greeted him back. He swallowed. Where the hell was she?

He made his way into the kitchen. The table there lay bare, devoid of any sign of a third party. Not a purse, or a phone, or a pair of shoes belonging to a teenager. Isaac set the clown doll on the table, looking around. Something didn't seem right. He looked to the stairs, flipping on the switch to the kitchen. Golden light flooded the room.

"Hello? Is anyone here?" he called up. Still, no answer.

A trickle of worry went through him. She didn't leave already, did she? Maxine said she was supposed to be here until at least after midnight. No way would she just leave, especially with Josie all alone. He slowly made his way to the stairs, thinking he should check up on Josie to make sure she was okay.

The staircase was dark, the steps disappearing into the blackness. Isaac felt his heart start to pound.

"Hello?"

Something suddenly pierced its way through his ankle, shoving its way through cartilage and veins, before it ripped itself out through the back of his heel, ripping out tendons and muscles.

" _AH!"_ Isaac screamed, pain shooting all the way up his leg in seconds. He could already feel warm blood soaking through his sock and shoe.

There was a creaking sound behind him. Isaac turned his head-

-There was only a flash of light glaring at him, before something metal and heavy struck him right in the temple. Isaac's head whipped to the other side, a ringing sound exploding in his ears as he swore he could hear something crack in his head. Letting out a yelp, Isaac felt his legs give out, falling to the floor in a heap, his hands roaring in pain as he held them out to try and break the fall.

Isaac groaned, squeezing his eyes shut. His head roared in pain, his foot afire from the cut tendon. His vision swam, the light of the kitchen suddenly too bright, shapes becoming nothing but dark colored blobs.

"What the hell?" he heard a voice hiss above him.

Isaac looked over his shoulders, his eyes widening when he saw the person responsible. Adrenaline started pumping through his veins, fear seizing every fiber of his being.

"G-Gaelin…" he whimpered.

* * *

I lower the bat, watching as he falls to the ground. A small splatter of blood hits the tile, and I can see a cut in his temple. He groans, clearly disoriented and in pain.

I furrow my brows. What the hell is Isaac doing here?

A small glint makes me look to Jester, who looks a little too pleased with himself as he admires the blood on his small knife. Not quite a clean cut as Blade could probably do, but still a bit of damage with ripping out his Achilles tendon.

"Why didn't you tell me he was here?" I question.

Jester looks at me, then back to Isaac, before just shrugging his shoulders.

I roll my eyes. I groan, running a hand through my hair as I look around. How troublesome, this was not part of the plan.

"Great, now we'll have to deal with him, and McAllister's supposed to be here in half an hour," I say, looking at the other puppets as they crawl out of their hiding space.

"G-Gaelin," I hear him suddenly snivel. I look up.

Isaac's bright green eyes are wide with fear as they look up at me. Just as I suspected, there's a small cut on his temple, and blood runs down to his chin. He holds a hand up, like it's going to be some kind of defense against my bat.

"You weren't supposed to be here," is all I say.

Jester makes a noise, and Isaac looks over at him. I can practically see the fear swim in his vision as his eyes widen further, looking back up to me with a mix of fear and silent begging as he tries to scoot back.

"G-Gaelin, p-please," he mewls, raising his hand in defense, "P-Please don't do this-"

"I wasn't going to do anything, you weren't even supposed to come," I push the bat against his chest, "What are you doing here, Isaac?"

"I-I-I," he stammers out, unable to form a coherent sentence, it seems.

I roll my eyes. I get being a little emotional, but this blubbering's getting on my nerves. I sigh in frustration, looking around.

"And now I'll have to put you somewhere where you won't bother me," I look at him in irritation, "But then that means I'll have to figure out how to keep you quiet."

"P-Please, y-y-y-you don't have to d-do this," Isaac snivels.

I tilt my head at him, "No, I don't…I _want_ to."

He sobs, trying to crawl away from me on his elbows. I just watch, looking down at his shoe. His whole sock and sneaker are dark red with blood, the heel a raggedy mess of spurting blood. Ooh, that must hurt like a motherfucker. Almost pains _me_ just looking at it. Isaac isn't making much progress- the blow to his head must make him a bit out of sync with his limbs at the moment. I look at the bat, before pushing it forward, lightly prodding the wound in his heel.

He screams in pain, turning back to me with his eyes filled with the want of mercy. I tilt my head at him.

"What exactly do you think you're going to accomplish?" I ask as I walk around him, swinging the bat, "That I'm just going to let you crawl out into the night, bleeding and begging for someone to come save you? To let you run your mouth about what you've seen here?"

"G-Gaelin, p-p-please, I-I-I won't-"

"You won't what? Say anything? Like I'd ever believe that," I say, holding the bat across my shoulder blades.

Jester walks up to Isaac, holding up the bloodstained knife. Isaac whimpers, tears and snot running down his face like little rivlets. He holds his head away from Jester; Jester's head spins in glee, and he looks to me like a child that's just gotten a prize. I nod, though I hold my hand out to let him know to hold back. I'm not quite done with Isaac.

"Please, please, please," he's starting to sound desperate, like he's close to ventilating.

I roll my eyes again, "Could you be quiet already? You're going to wake up my neighbors-"

"G-Gaelin, if this is," he stammers out, "If this is about Josie, I-I'm sorry."

My head shoots up when he mentions her. "What?"

"I-I-I-I didn't know what was I thinking!" he sobs, "I-I-I-I swear, it was only a few times. I-I-I promise I'll leave, I'll never go near her, just p-please don't do this! I-I couldn't control myself! I-I only touched her a few times, I-I swear I never hurt her! Please don't do this!"

"What are you-"

Then it hits me. Just what he means.

 _No…._

Not her.

Not my little Josie.

My grip on the bat tightens until my hand aches. My heart pounds in rage, and my teeth clench together so tightly they feel like I'm going to break.

I glare at Isaac, shaking my head. My breathing is all ragged, and my lungs feel like they're on fire.

"You sick _fuck_ …" I spit out in disbelief.

"Please," he begs, "Please, I swear I'll never do it again. I-I swear I'll leave right away, I'll never come back, just please! Please don't do this, please don't-"

I've had enough.

Before I know it I swing the bat, clocking him right on the side of the head.

His body twists, and he shouts in a mixture of pain and fear. His lips instantly go red as they split open, and he looks back at me.

"Gaelin! Please-"

I feel the bat with both hands, swinging it from the left. It gets him in the side that's already bloody; the small cut is aggravated into a full-on gash, blood shooting onto the wall. My grip is so tight on the bat I swear my fingers are starting to feel fuzzy.

" _Gaelin! Please! Please, please!"_

But I don't listen.

I raise the bat high above my head, bringing it down the center of his head. His scalp splits open, blood hitting me right in the face as it splits open. I think I can ever hear his skull crack. I raise it again.

" _GAELIN! PLEASE! PLEASE! PLEASE! STOP! STOP!"_

He continues to beg, but I can barely hear him. My rage has blocked out all my thoughts, clouding my vision in bright red, shoving all means of mercy and hesitation out of my mind. I can feel his blood splatter my clothes and my face, but I pay it little mind. With every swing of the bat I bring down, I feel my arms go faster and faster, the hits becoming harder and more forceful.

I just keep hitting, and hitting, and hitting…

* * *

 _Later…_

Aaron leaned out the window, trying to keep track of the numbers of the houses he approached. It was awfully dark tonight, and the streetlights were of little help in identifying the address. 3420, 3422, 3424..

A beige house appeared on the right, paint-chipped shutters lightly banging against the wall. There was an air conditioner sticking out of one of the top windows. Aaron felt his grip on the steering wheel tighten as he saw plated numbers on the pillar holding up the awning of the porch. The numbers 3430 briefly flashed in the headlights of his car.

His heart started to pound. He was here.

His mouth suddenly felt dry. Aaron licked his lips as he swallowed, slowly pulling into the driveway and putting the parking brake on. He stared at the house, hesitation suddenly freezing him in place.

It was unexpected and out of place, the e-mail he had suddenly gotten. There was no greeting to it. No bullshitting opening paragraph. No room for negotiation. Just four simple sentences.

 _Meet me at my house. The seventeenth, ten o'clock. Come alone._

 _I want to talk to you about what happened._

 _~Gaelin (yes, that one)_

Aaron remembered how he had just stared at the e-mail, nearly choking on his drink as he re-read the words over and over again, staring at the name printed on the bottom like it was a ghost claiming his soul.

He had pondered over it again and again, a whirlwind of emotions as he pondered and changed his mind several times over whether or not to agree to it. He remembered pacing back and forth in his room, tapping his foot, constantly sitting down and getting back up as he thought of a response. He remembered typing out an answer, before erasing it. Typing out another one, before erasing that one too. Over and over again. He left it alone for a few days when he felt overwhelmed, like he was going to go insane. He had had a talk with his mother about it, deeply conflicted with what to do. His parents had suggested one thing. His friends suggested the other.

Finally, he decided on a simple, sloppy answer. Hence, why he was here now.

Aaron leaned back in his seat, looking up at the house. It was eerie in the dark, the lack of any lights coming from the inside giving it a menacing aura. His heart pounded in his chest- he swear he could hear the blood in his ears. Despite the cool temperature, his palms had started to sweat.

Why on Earth would Sean Killough's son want to talk to him? Why now, of all things?

Aaron briefly remembered his face on the news when the accident happened; blonde hair, green eyes, a bit tall. He probably had already heard the news of his release.

That's why he arranged this, didn't he? So he could finally chew Aaron out the way he didn't get to, since he was still in the hospital when the trial happened? Or maybe, do worse?

Aaron shook his head. _Stop doing that_ , he scolded himself.

He was nervous. Which was making his mind come up with excuses as to not go. In all honesty, he still didn't want to do this. What do you say to someone whose parent's death you're responsible for?

Aaron swallowed. Not that he didn't deserve to be chewed out.

He sat there a few minutes longer, fiddling with his keychain. He turned the car off, the engine's noises grating on his nerves. He sat a few minutes longer in the silence. He looked at the house's front door, his chest constricting.

He took a deep breath. Finally, he opened the door and got out, locking it behind him.

Every step he took felt like concrete blocks were tied to his feet.

When he got to the porch, he stood rooted on the spot, staring at the door as if it would suddenly open a vortex and suck him in. his hands fumbled in his pockets. Aaron looked around. He couldn't hear anything from the inside, or see any lights on. A chill went through him as the wind blew from the east.

Slowly, he reached up, ringing the doorbell.

He could hear it echo throughout the entire house. Aaron looked around. There didn't seem be a sign of life anywhere present in the house. Or in this neighborhood for that matter, most houses having turned all their lights off. It sent a bit of a chill down his spine.

There was no answer. Aaron looked towards the door again, an unexplainable feeling of uneasiness starting to settle on him.

Hesitantly, he reached up, slowly knocking.

Nothing.

Aaron leaned back, sparing one look at the window. Where the hell was he? He knocked again, much more impatient this time. For a guy so adamant on meeting, he sure was taking his sweet-ass time. Unless he had just arranged this so-called meeting just to fuck with him, make him waste his time to-

"Come in," the faintest voice replied from the inside.

Aaron froze, his hand in mid-air about to knock a third time. He hesitated for a moment.

There was no turning back. It was all or nothing now. He could either turn back now, or find out whatever it was this guy wanted from him.

Aaron let loose a breath he didn't know he was holding; it puffed up in a little cloud in front of his face.

He put his hand on the knob- he frowned at the way his hand started to shake all of a sudden. Tightening his grip on the knob, he opened the door.

It was nearly pitch black. Not a single light was on, casting everything in a blanket of shadow. Aaron froze in place. Only the pale moonlight streaming in from the blinded windows in the way back of the living room provided the dimmest light.

Aaron looked around; instantly, his senses went on high alert.

"H-Hel…Hello?" he called out.

"Shut the door behind you," a masculine voice said, "I'll be out in just a second."

A voice inside Aaron's head told him to not do it. That something was up; something not quite right.

Against his better judgment, though. He did, his movements automatic and stiff. He looked around the room; as his eyes adapted, he could make out the faintest outline of furniture against the walls, the glass of picture frames and paintings slightly reflecting the moonlight. The gentle hum of the refrigerator came from the kitchen.

There was a sound of small footsteps somewhere to his right.

Aaron whipped around, eyes straining against the shadows.

Something flashed across the dim light, a shadow moving an impossible speed.

Aaron backed up as he turned. There was nothing there.

"G-G-Gaelin?"

A sound came from the kitchen, directly across from him. Aaron shot his head up, eyes widening at what he saw.

A small figure stood on the table, barely distinguishable from the shade around it. Only the slight glittering of the threads on its outfit gave it away. Aaron swallowed, his heart almost thrumming with how fast it pounded in his chest. His feet picked up, and despite the voices in his head screaming at him to run, they slowly commanded him over to the table.

Aaron's mouth went dry as he neared the figurine. He could faintly make out that it was some sort of wooden toy- an old action figure or puppet of some sort. It was dressed like a medieval jester, donned in a red shirt and golden boots, its hat adorned with several bells. Its face- strangely neatly divided into three bits, as if it had been put through a woodsaw- was painted with a mischievous smile, eyebrows arched in a devilish manner.

Aaron slowly approached it.

That wasn't here this whole time.

He took a slow step forward, feeling weighted down by an unknown force. He took another step-

-his foot caught on something, and he let out a shout of surprise as he fell down. Aaron grit his teeth as his hands shot out in front of him to break the fall, his wrists bending at an uncomfortable anger. Letting out a curse, Aaron felt his toes catch on something, and he scrambled back to see what it was.

All the breath went out of him as he looked back to see a bludgeoned, bloody corpse under him.

Aaron's eyes widened.

Whoever it was far dead by now. That much was obvious. The person's- presumably a man from the clothes- head was a mess and unrecognizable, his face caved in. Blood spread out from under it in a dark puddle that looked like spilled ink in the dark, spreading over the smooth white tile. Bits of hair and muscle- Aaron's stomach rolled as he presumed it to be brain matter- slumped out of the remains of his skull, looking like a spilled slushie.

Vomit filled his mouth as he scrambled to get up, backing away from the body. The back of his knees hit the sink. Aaron clamored for the counter, staring bewildered. Now that his eyes were adjusted, he could make out small bits of blood staining the walls, the way it soaked the man's clothes. There were bloody footprints leading away from it to the upstairs.

"Oh, fuck-"

He stumbled a few steps before something suddenly grabbed his leg, yanking his feet out right from under him.

Aaron yelled, his mind barely registering the sensation before he smacked face-first right into the floor. A clacking sound rattled in his head; he felt a searing pain in his mouth as his lower jaw bounced against the floor, making him bite through his tongue; a coppery taste filled his mouth. His nose made a sickening snap as it broke, and he could feel blood start to gush out of his nostrils. Aaron coughed against the sudden vile taste, spitting out bloody phlegm. There was a something hard scraping against the inside of his cheek, and a pain in his tooth made him dimly realize one of his crowns had come loose.

There was a small sound from his left. Aaron lifted his head.

Two small figures stood near the pantry. One of them wore a dark trenchcoat, a little black hat resting on his head; little slivers gleamed in his eyes as he held up a knife. Another one, a robot with glowing red eyes, pointed at him with a stumpy hand, various growling sounds coming from its throat.

Aaron whimpered, fear paralyzing him.

The robotic toy let out a snarl, and a burst of bright orange light shot from its stump.

Aaron screamed as he curled into a ball, raising a hand up to shield himself from the fire. It was of little use, as he suddenly felt his hand engulfed in what felt like lava, the skin boiling and blistering in an instant, singing the hair on his arm. Aaron shouted, yanking his hand away.

He looked to the right, hand slapping on the floor as he scrambled away, trying to get to his feet. Aaron shot up, eyes landing on the back door as his knees bent in pain.

He could do little more than stand up straight, before a noise made his ears pop from behind; Aaron shrieked as he felt something pierce his shoulder, ripping out of him through his collarbone. He doubled over, his uninjured hand shooting to it; he felt blood pour out between his fingers. He squeezed his eyes shut, gritting his teeth. Blood poured from his chin, his tongue burning.

Something jabbed into his foot, and Aaron's eyes shot open.

A small toy-sized woman in a pink dress glared up at him, her face a twisted snarl as she held a small knife over her head, bringing it back down and stabbing it right through his sneaker.

"ARGH!" Aaron squealed, yanking his foot away. He hopped, eyes darting to the little figures that closed in on him.

"Wha-What are you?!" he exclaimed as he turned around, aiming to get back to the front door.

Something glinted in the darkness, and Aaron turned his head.

Only for a skillet to hit him right in the face.

Body twisting like a gory ballerina, Aaron felt himself spin as he face roared in agony- his jaw felt dislocated, and he could see teeth and blood fly onto the floor- before collapsing in the living room. He groaned, one eye instantly swelling shut.

He regained his senses as a whirling noise sounded in his ear, before something shoved its way into his side, instantly ripping into his skin. Aaron screamed. It felt like someone had shoved a sword that had been sitting in the fire right through him. He looked at the side, the sickening feeling in him growing when he saw another toy look up at him; this one gave him a wide smile, his blood dripping from the drill on its head.

Indescribable sounds left his throat. A tightening sensation in his chest made him realize he was hyperventilating. Eyes darting around for some sort of safe haven, he began to desperately crawl into the living room, if only to get away from whatever these little demons were.

"Okay, that's enough, everyone," a voice suddenly said behind him, "Give me a chance with him."

Aaron froze. Tears pricked his eyes, and he swallowed hard- he fought back the urge to wretch as the taste of blood made its way down his throat- slowly looking over his shoulder. He whimpered, tears mixing with the blood on his face.

"P-P-Please," he begged.

Gaelin Killough stood before him, looking nothing short of terrifying in clothes that were splattered with red. A metal bat rested by his side, coated in blood. Gaelin stared down at him, looking like a ghost in the dark; wide, light green eyes stared down at him through messy blonde locks, making him look absolutely manic.

"Aaron McAllister," he said boldly, "We finally meet again."

Aaron sobbed, curling up as he turned away from the menacing gaze, feeling small.

"P-P-P-P-P-Please, p-please don't do this," he begged, his words coming out slurred from the disalignment of his jaw.

"Funny, that's what _he_ said beforehand," Gaelin said nonchalantly, pointing the bat at the body that lay near the kitchen. He earned a cry from the other boy.

"I know you're probably wondering why I got into contact with you," he continued, walking around the kitchen. He swung the bat around like it was a baton, "After all, with the…bad blood between us, you probably thought I'd never want to speak to you after what you did. You probably thought I couldn't even stand to look at you after all you put me and my family through.

"And you'd be right," Gaelin confirmed, "I still can't. And I never will."

He said it with a tone like Aaron had just asked him about the weather, his face looking unnaturally neutral with all the blood that dotted it. Aaron wept as he tried to scoot away, too paralyzed to look away from the penetrating gaze of the teen before him.

"You see, Aaron," Gaelin said as he walked around the kitchen table, "Things happen in this world. Good things, bad things, sad things, happy things. Whatever they are, things happen. And they happen at random. They don't really give the people a choice of what should happen. Sometimes good things happen to bad people who ought to have their balls fed to them, and sometimes bad things happen to people who you'd consider deserving of a crown and a statue.

"Like: you and me," he said as he walked back up to Aaron. Aaron cowered under him, muttering words of begging, " _You_ should be rotting away in prison, becoming some serial killer's bitch boy for running that stop sign and killing my father, a man who just wanted to help the people around him. But you aren't. Oh, no, you aren't. Instead, Mommy and Daddy used their influence to not only keep you from living out the rest of your life eating shit like you deserve, but now they can even make sure their little golden boy can finish school and become an all star like they want him to be. Meanwhile, my dad is gathering worms while he pushes up daisies in the cemetery, dead, and me?...well, I don't think it takes much to see I'm not quite the guy I used to be."

He trotted up to Aaron, kneeling beside him. Aaron whimpered as he pulled away.

"Yep, its quite unfair," Gaelin shook his head, sighing, "But I think we both know you deserve more than that, isn't that right?

"Isn't that right, you _miserable little fucker?_ " he suddenly hissed under his breath as he grabbed a handful of Aaron's hair, yanking his head side to side.

Aaron cried out, his scalp feeling like it was about to rip off. Gaelin's eyes grew hard, his face scrunching up in a snarl as he pulled, watching as the redhead cried out in pain.

" _I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry!"_ Aaron sobbed, holding onto his wrist to try and disengage his grip, "I'm so sorry, I'm so, so, so, sorry for what I did! I'm so sorry that I killed your dad, I-I-I didn't mean to! I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry, please! Please don't kill me! Please, please, please-!"

"Aw, you're begging me? That's cute," Gaelin commented as he let go of Aaron's hair, standing back up, a small mocking smile marking his face. It disappeared just as quickly, becoming replaced with a deep frown, "Unfortunately it's waaaaay too late for that. I'm not quite in the mood to begged at tonight.

"You see, Aaron, there's a lot of unfairness that's going on in the world," he said as he walked back around the kitchen, "Buuuuuut…that doesn't mean it can't be corrected. Sometimes all you need is a little help."

Several little voices suddenly spoke up, and Aaron shakily lifted his head.

To his horror, the small toys from just a few minutes ago walked in around him and Gaelin, forming a small circle. They stood freely, looking at Aaron like a pack of lions circling a lost little antelope. Aaron blubbered as he watched them walk on their own, the ones who had attacked him holding up their bloodstained weapons like badges of honor.

"No, no, no, nooooo," he whined, "Please, please, please please please…"

"I think I have a little explaining to do," Gaelin interrupted him, "I mean, I think you deserve to know what exactly is going on before you die.

" _These,_ are my friends," he gestured to the small toys, "The Toulon puppets, once known to be the most desired secrets in the world. Puppets, _this_ is Aaron McAllister, the guy I've been telling you about."

The puppets hissed, their little mouths opening as they observed Aaron like a fresh target. He sobbed, feeling defenseless.

"You see, Aaron, the puppets' way of living is a bit…grim," Gaelin paused, "They need certain things to survive and continue their supplement. They also are one of the few to see the injustice of the world. The ones to finally put their feet down and decide enough is enough. So I thought: why not make a trade? I help them get their formula, they help me finally get my fair share, and together, we help make the world a better place by cleansing it of the filth that's polluting it. They do have a tendency to…lose themselves when they're having fun; but then again, don't we all when we're having fun?"

Hyperventilating, Aaron gathered courage to look back at him in the eye, his grey eyes pleading with Gaelin as tears poured down his cheeks.

" _Pleeeease_ ," he begged, "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, please don't kill me. P-Please, I-I-I…I-I-I have a family-"

"I have a family too," Gaelin snapped at him, his expression hostile, "Or…I did. Until _you_ took it away."

Gaelin shook his head, raising his hands, "But we don't have night to talk about who did what or who has what. What I do have, though, is a chance."

He turned his back, taking a deep breath. "A chance to finally show the world I'm no one's dog anymore. A chance to finally get a new start."

He turned back to Aaron, slipping his hand into his pocket.

"A chance to _finally_ do what I think should've been done a long time ago. I let the puppets get a taste first, though, let them get it out of their systems- after all, all their previous attempts they've been short one time- but I thought that if I'm going to help them, I need to show them I can hold my own. Starting with _you."_

He pulled something out of his pocket, holding it up for Aaron to see.

A cry ripped through the redhead's mouth as Gaelin pressed a switch, popping it to reveal a switchblade.

"And frankly, I'm tired of pussyfooting, should let's get this started, shall we?" he said, starting for Aaron, " _Come here!"_

" _ **HELP!"**_ Aaron screamed, flipping onto his stomach, " _ **SOMEBODY HELP, PLEASE! HELP!"**_

He tried to crawl away. Gaelin squatted, flipping him over and straddling him. He grunted as he moved to get bat Aaron's fighting hands away from his face. After a brief struggle, he finally managed to get both of the ginger's wrists in his hands, moving so his knees dug into Aaron's biceps. All the while, Aaron screamed and thrashed, pleading with him to stop, screaming out for help, crying for his parents. Gaelin rolled his eyes as he pinned Aaron's wrists to the floor, before moving the switchblade to his face.

He caught Aaron's gaze, and smirked at him.

"How about we rearrange that pretty little face of yours, shall we?" he asked.

"NO! _**NO, NO, NOOOOOO!"**_ Aaron screamed as he flipped onto his stomach, trying to get away, " _ **NO, PLEASE! PLEASE DON'T HURT ME! PLEASE, I'LL DO ANYTHING! NO, NO, NOOOOOOOOO!"**_

The screams quickly erupted into roars as Gaelin reached back and jabbed the knife straight into Aaron's abdomen, before yanking it out and thrusting into his collarbone, dragging it down to his pecks, ripping Aaron's shirt, before pulling it out again. Then stabbing him again.

Again and again. He grit his teeth, focusing his weight on keeping himself upright as Aaron kicked beneath him, desperate to get him off.

* * *

After a good thirty minutes or so, the screams finally lowered in volume, reduced to pitiful begging.

After another fifteen, they finally stopped for good. Along with them stopped the pounding of feet against the tile.

All the while, Blade and the others watched. As much as he would like to get in on the action with the Master, he understood that the Master wanted to be alone for this one. Who was he to take away that joy?

The Master stood up, panting. He was sweating heavily, his clothes sticking to him. His jeans and shirt and hands were damp, scarlet coating them like he had just dumped wet paint on himself. His face was shiny, like he had just been dunked. Beads of sweat dotted his forehead. He wiped it away with a bloody hand, leaving a red streak.

Licking his lips, he looked down at his craftsmanship. Not too bad for his third time, Blade thought. Certainly much more calmer this time than with the pervert. Though just as messy…not that it mattered. The messier, the better. Let them suffer.

He looked back at the puppets, who watched him patiently.

"Middle, you said, right?" he asked Blade, gesturing at the center of his forehead with the knife.

Blade nodded, running his knifehand across his throat.

Master smirked at him, nodding again in response.

He looked back down at the body. He was glad he spared the forehead and decided to go straight for gouging out the eyes.

Crouching down again at the body, he watched the Master as he grabbed McAllister's limp head, turning it so his thumb rested against his chin, holding it up for support.

The Master turned the bloody knife in his hand and raised it to the top of the forehead, pressing it in, starting to cut deep…

* * *

Paul spared a glance to the side as he heard Max sigh deeply, watching as she took her phone away from her ear, pouting at the screen.

"Voicemail, again?" he asked, already knowing the answer.

Maxine shook her head, "I swear, he better not be ignoring me. Or he'll have hell to pay tomorrow."

Paul chuckled, though it quickly disappeared as he pressed hard on the breaks to avoid hitting the Toyota that suddenly pulled out in front of them without even putting on its turn signal.

"Gaelin, it's Mom," he heard Maxine say, "Traffic's really bad at the moment- apparently there's been a pile-up on the highway, and we're stuck. Just so we're not here all night, we're going to be spending at the night at Jennifer's house, so you see by the morning we're not there, don't worry. Make sure Josie's okay. Love you, bye."

She hung up, wrinkling her nose as she looked up to see the rows upon rows of cars that lined the road. Paul shook his head. This was going to be doing a number on his engine.

"You sound irritated."

Maxine looked at him, "It's not that…it's just…I…I have a feeling. Like, something big is happening, you know? Something you can't quite explain, but you know it's going to happen. You ever get that?"

Paul looked at her for a second. _Only from the moment your son started acting like he was John motherfucking Bender_ , he thought, though he bit his tongue before they could come tumbling out.

"Um, yeah, once or twice maybe," he said instead, looking into the backlights of the car in front, "You think something's going to happen to Gaelin?"

"I don't know," Max looked down at her hands, "I guess? I…I'm not sure. It's just, like, I got this feeling in my bones."

Paul pursed his lips. This _could_ be a chance for him to entertain the fact that that feeling was what he had been having every single day for the past week, for the past few months ever since Gaelin started acting weird, that he completely understood because he had had that exact same feeling.

But he didn't. He was tired of fighting with her, and he certainly did not want to face an extra awkward few hours stuck in traffic, and then having to explain to Jen and Russ what had Max so fired up. He was tired and just wanted to go to sleep.

"I'm sure it's nothing, honey," he said, "Just probably overthinking it. Relax, I'm sure everything is fine."

* * *

The water splashes out of the tub, getting onto the bathmat and getting the floor wet. I scrub at my arms with the washcloth, digging into my fingernails to get the blood out, wiping away every trace of red that I can. My clothes are soaked, sticking to me like a second skin. I scrub harder at the blood, the white bubbles of body wash becoming cotton candy pink. It starts to settle on my skin and itches.

I grab the plastic pail that's been sitting directly under the faucet and dump it over my head. I squeeze my eyes shut, feeling my hair stick to my face as it empties out. I put it back down into the water when it does, running my hands through my hair and shaking my head like a dog, blinking the water droplets away from my eyes.

My shoes make an annoying squeak against the ceramic of the tub. I grunt, trying not to slip as I get up from my kneeling position, sitting back down on my butt as I pull them and my socks off, tossing them over the side of the tube.

I look up to where Six and Decapitron are watching me from the toilet. I nod at them, scrubbing my hands through my hair to try and get rid of any blood that's maybe gotten in it. I tug at my shirt, pulling the wet fabric from my torso.

"Keep this our little secret?" I ask jokingly, raising my eyebrows as I rub the washcloth over my neck.

Six Shooter's familiar tight chuckle comes from him, raising his black painted hands to me in a thumbs-up. Decapitron just nods, still looking like he doesn't quite grasp the situation.

The others watch me from the counter. Torch catches my eye as he nods at me, giving an annoyed grunt as he points at my watch that's hanging off of the rack.

"I know, I know, we're going to leave," I assure, running shampoo through my hair, "But first, let me get clean at least. Can't be going out looking like a Jason Vorhees victim if we're ever to make it to the next city."

Blade nods in agreement, his hook hand wrapped around the bottle of formaldehyde. The ones where McAllister and Isaac's front lobes slowly turn the mixture orange.

It was a bit hard finding Isaac's- that was my bad, since I pretty much had turned his head to mashed potatoes by the time I was done with him- but once I got McAllister's forehead peeled, it was smooth as butter. Contrary to what people think, skulls aren't that hard to crack if you got the right tools.

Never mind that now, though. We'll worry about that later.

"Now, I'm going to shower," I say to myself, pulling the plug out of the drain as I stand up, pulling the curtain shut as I yank on the tap. The spray hits me, feeling relaxing. I sigh as I stand under it, scrubbing the shampoo from my scalp.

* * *

The hands on the clock slowly ticked, moving but a centimeter for every second that passed. The small ticking noise was soft, almost unheard, but in the silence of her dorm, it felt like every one was a loud explosion in Kelly's ear.

The brunette sat cross legged on her bed, licking her lips nervously as she watched the seconds go by. She looked out the window. The bright light from the ceiling fan intensified the reflection of the window, making everything outside look pitch black. She sighed, looking at her phone.

Almost an hour and half after her first text, and Aaron _still_ hadn't called her back.

She grimaced, unlocking the screen and scrolling through her contacts, pressing on the number that had his name next to it. She held it to her ear, hearing it ring a few times.

" _Hey, it's me. I'm not here right now, but I'll call you back as soon as I can. Thanks,"_ the pre-recorded voicemail repeated, the familiar tone of the machine following with it.

Kelly groaned as she tossed the phone onto her bed, grabbing the stuffed bear he had gotten her at the fair a few years ago and hugging it to her chest.

It wasn't like him to not pick up his phone. Kelly frowned. She had tried calling his mom, but all she would say to her was that he had "things" he needed to sort out tonight, and that was it. Totally not like Mrs. M to keep things from her.

Kelly stared at her phone a few seconds, before she picked it up again. Picking the same contact, she held it to her ear.

" _Hey, it's me. I'm not here right now, but I'll call you back as soon as I can. Thanks…"_

* * *

I pull on my corduroy jacket, looking through the remains of my mirror as I zip it up. I adjust the collar of my shirt when I notice it's a bit crooked, tugging down the jacket where it rides up over my hips- three years later, and this old thing is still a bit too big on me. I brush it away, though, turning away from the mirror- when you're in a hurry, you don't have time to be nitpicky.

I pull my duffle bag over my shoulder, before reaching for my backpack and grabbing it by the top strap; school supplies litter my floor, everything having been dumped out so there would be enough room for both the puppets and all the supplies we need for the formula. I open it, peering down to see the puppets looking at me. The bottle of formaldehyde lies between them, Pinhead's arms wrapped around it for extra safety.

"Everyone comfortable?" I ask, double checking to make sure we have all the supplies. They hiss at me; Jester gives me a thumbs up. I smile. They're probably just as ready to get out of here as I am. I zip the backpack back up and pull my arms through the straps, adjusting it on my back.

I reach for the duffle bag that lies on my bed, unzipping real quick to scan the contents inside. I pull it over my left shoulder, grabbing my wallet and the extra cash that I've been keeping in the shoebox in my closet off of the dresser. I put my wallet in my pocket and the cash in the little compartment of my duffle bag, before heading for the door.

I take one last look around my room, at the dozens of little faces that Dad and I have collected throughout the years.

They make it almost impossible to leave. This is something that means the world to me; the last thing I have of Dad. But I can't take them all with me.

Besides, I know they're going to be going to a good owner.

I grab a familiar clown doll from my drawer, and shut the door, making my way to Josie's room. I press my ear to the door, listening in. Silence.

Slowly opening the door, I peak in. The nightlight on the far wall is the only light source. I stand there, taking in the little shape outlined in the blankets. She looks peaceful, dozens of teddy bears surrounding her like fluffy bodyguards. She's on her back, her strawberry blonde curls looking golden in the small gold light, framing her face like a veil. Her chest slowly goes up and down.

I kneel by her bed, tucking Mr. Jingles into the side next to her- I have to try and sate my anger when I think about how he ended up in Isaac's grimy paws. _That doesn't matter anymore_ , my mind tells me, _You got him out of the way, and that's all that's important. He'll never put his disgusting hands on her again_.

You got that damn right.

Blowing a breath, I stroke her curls, watching her as she sleeps. Josie coos, turning on her side. Her arm reaches out in her sleep and pulls one of the teddy bears close- a soft pastel green one with blue eyes that she holds close. I smile sadly at her. She'll be confused when morning comes; she'll have questions that won't get answered, or answers that she won't understand, and probably will never understand until she gets over. I don't want to leave her. Her and Mom have already lost so much, and now they're going to lose me too.

But I have to do this. They'd be better off without me.

I sigh, pulling out an envelope with her name on it from my bag and placing it on her nightstand.

"I'm leaving now, Josie," I say softly to her, watching her sleep, "I have some things to do, and I have to go away. I can't take you or Mommy with me, and I can't tell you when I'll ever be back, but I need to say this before I go.

"I know I haven't been the best big brother I should be to you- when you wake up, you're going to be confused and scared and hurting and you're going to have a bunch of questions that I won't be there to answer. You're going to hear things between now and as you get older that you won't know if they're true. Some of these you may come to believe. You're whole view of me may change. But no matter…"

I trail off, feeling a sudden lump in my throat. Against my will, tears come to my eyes. I blink them away, looking down at her. My little Josie. My wonderful, amazing little sister.

"No matter what," I croak out, "I want you to have this letter, so you know no matter what you may come to think of me, that you know I will always, _always_ love you. You are by far the greatest person in my world, and though I don't show it, I'm _so_ proud of you. You're funny and sweet and kind and you make me so happy. And I know if Dad was here, he'd say the same thing. You're my little sister, and you are the greatest thing that's ever come into my life. So no matter what, I want you read this letter I'm giving you, to let you know that no matter what you come to believe, that I will _never, ever_ stop loving you."

A tear falls from my eye, trailing down my nose and dripping onto the duvet. I wipe my eyes, giving my little sister one last look. I pull the covers up around her, leaning over and giving her one last kiss on her head.

"I'm going to miss you," I whisper, "I love you so, so much, Josephine. Be a better person than I ever could be."

With that, I stand up, wiping my hands on my jeans. I give her one last look. Josie sleeps on, oblivious to anything I've said. I take a deep breath, trying to dispel the tightening feeling my chest.

Forcing myself to keep looking forward, I walk out of her room, shutting the door behind me. I make a beeline for the stairs, making my way down- I make a point to step over Aaron and Isaac on my way out- before heading straight to the front door.

I lock it before I leave my key under the mat.

And without another look, I step off the porch of what was once my house for the last time.

As I walk, the cold air hugging me, I hear some fumbling around in the backpack, before I hear the zipper become undone. I look over my shoulder to see Jester looking at me, wearing his sad face. I smile.

"Don't be sad, little buddy," I say, "I'll be okay."

He nods, disappearing back into the bag and re-zipping it.

I look up into the sky. It's dark out, not a star visible in the sky. Only the moon- the first full moon of the month- looks back at me, its light adding a milky finish to everything in sight.

I tear my gaze away, focusing on what lies down the street. There's a bus stop that's about ten minutes away by foot. According to the schdule, there's a late one that should be coming within the next twenty-five minutes.

I take a deep breath, before I hitch up my bags and start walking.

* * *

 _Just two more chapters left! Stay tuned for the aftermath!_


	42. Red Sky at Morning

**Chapter XLI: Red Sky at Morning**

 _CLING!_

Audrey frowned, squeezing her eyes together harder as she curled up.

 _CLING! CLING! CLING!_

Groaning, she rolled over on her side, pulling the blankets up over her head.

 _CLING! CLING! CLING! CLING! CLING!_

Growling in frustration, Audrey rolled over on her back, eyes shooting open as she threw the blankets back, staring at the ceiling. She rolled her head to the side, glaring at her phone from where it lay on her nightstand; the screen was lit up, and she could see numerous bubbles of texts on the lockscreen. Rolling onto her stomach, Audrey hugged her pillow, squinting as she looked at the time on her clock.

She let out a snarl of annoyance when she saw that it was only nine forty-five. She reached for her phone.

"This better be fucking good, Kim," she growled to herself as she unplugged it from the charger, bringing it up to her.

 _Kim: Didya hear what happened?_

 _Turn on the news!_

' _Drey, Im not kidding, srsly go watch_

 _Did u see it yet?_

 _?_

Audrey frowned. What the hell was Kim talking about? And was it really so important that she felt the need to incessantly text her fifty messages within only five minutes so early in the morning? Deciding that whatever Kim was talking about could wait, Audrey set her phone back on the nightstand, turning onto her back and stretching, rubbing her eyes. She lay there for a few seconds, looking at the random lumps in the paint of the ceiling.

 _Well, I'm not getting back to sleep_ , she thought bitterly, sighing as she finally threw the covers back, throwing her legs over the edge of the bed. Stretching her arms over her head, she grabbed her phone before leaving her room.

"Morning, Dad," she said tiredly as she entered the living room. Her father sat on the couch, flipping through the channels. At the sound of his name, he turned towards her, a small smile on his face.

"Good morning, _kjaere_ ," he greeted, his heavy accent lacing his words, before turning his attention back to the television, "Sleep well?"

Audrey shrugged as she passed by him, giving him a quick peck on the cheek before turning to the kitchen, "I was, until my friend decided that the gossip couldn't wait."

She heard her Dad chuckle as she entered the kitchen, heading for the coffee pot and grabbing a mug. She strained to listen to the news while pouring the hot black drink.

"How was concert last night?" he asked from the living room, "You out awfully late last night."

Audrey suppressed a sigh of exasperation, hanging her head back as she rolled her eyes. She understood her parents were only looking out for her, but goddamn, she was eighteen, not eight. She was graduating in a few months, for goodness' sake! She was allowed to have fun with her friends!

"After the concert, we stopped in Renton to get some food," she instead replied, albeit her tone was still a bit irritated, "And after that I went with Kim to her house to hang out a bit…like I just told you in all the texts I sent you."

"Oh, _kjaere,_ " he called back, "Don't be cross with me. You know I only worry for you."

"I know, Dad," she said tiredly. Reaching for the creamer, Audrey mumbled to herself, " _I'd just wish you'd trust me more."_

Stirring the creamer into the coffee, Audrey watched as the dark liquid slowly swirled to become an opaque cocoa color. She could hear the steady click of the remote as her dad continued flipping through channels, letting whatever was on the screen appear for only the fraction of a second before he pressed the channel button; sometimes, all the channels could be gone over four times before her dad finally settled on something he liked.

" _-With new Neutrogena-"_

" _-ape, not kill other-"_

" _-do what you want, what you want-"_

" _-year-old son, Gaelin Killough, was last seen-"_

Audrey froze.

Leaving her coffee abandoned on the counter, she hurried back into the living room; her dad was unmoved in his space, thumb pressing rapidly on the 'up' button as numerous screencaps flashed on the television screen.

"What was that?" she asked.

Her dad looked up at her, trading a glance between her and the screen.

"Stupid commercial," he commented, "You know, the typical 'is good for you', 'it totally-'"

"No, not that," She said, stepping through the archway, "Turn it back to the news."

He gave her a confused look, before he pressed down on the 'down' button, flipping back a few channels before the familiar red headline at the bottom of the morning news appeared on screen.

Audrey's eyes widened.

" _-that when Paul and Maxine Saint Clair walked into their home this morning after sleeping over at a friend's house,"_ the reporter on the screen said, holding her microphone with both hands, " _they had no idea they'd be stepping into a nightmare."_

The screen changed to show several angles of a beige house, the porch of which was wrapped up in yellow police tape. Several police officers stood in the yard and driveway, their police cruisers parked on the side of the road, next to the house.

 _Gaelin's_ house.

" _Police say the couple had noticed something off when they pulled up to find two cars, neither of which belonged to anyone in the family, parked in their driveway,"_ the reporter's voice said over the pictures, " _But when they entered their house and stepped into the dining area was where the real horror began._

" _The couple only made a few steps inside before they immediately came across the bodies of two men lying dead on their kitchen floor- the victims of an obvious gruesome double homicide. Police have since identified the victims as twenty-nine year old Isaac Haymore, and twenty-one year old Aaron McAllister. The couple says they do not know how the two men ended up in their home, nor why they were here or the reason for this crime, but that it is obvious that whoever was behind this planned it from the beginning."_

Two photos popped up on the screen: the left one contained that of a smiling young Caucasian man with auburn hair and green eyes, looking at the screen as he held a rabbit in his hands; the right one was what looked to be a senior photo of a guy with super pale skin covered with freckles, his red hair slicked back as his grey eyes held a confident air in them.

" _Police are also looking into the disappearance of Mrs. Saint Clair's eldest child, Gaelin, who- according to them- failed to return home after telling his parents he was going to going to hang out with his friends and wouldn't be back until midnight; Mrs. Saint Clair reports that he never returned any of her messages. Sheriff Brian Mravitz says that until otherwise, based on what was found at the crime scene, that he is a possible suspect, and that evidence found at the crime scene suggests the both men's deaths may have been premeditated."_

A third picture appeared on the screen.

Audrey's heart dropped in her chest.

Gaelin's unsmiling face stood against a bright blue backdrop; it was a full figure shot, with him dressed in a flannel and jeans as he leaned against what looked like the end of a bridge overlooking the ocean, the white sand evident in the background. His blonde hair was combed, and his eyes were looking outward towards something off camera, his arms crossed as he leaned on them against the bridge. It looked like a senior picture, something that was supposed to be sent in to the Yearbook and graduation committee.

" _The sheriff has stated at this time, they cannot confirm whether or not the young men's homicides are connected to the brutal killing of twenty-six-year-old Carter Nicholson, whose body was found in the kitchen of Loughlin's Family Steakhouse just last Thursday, but that they will keep the possibility open._

 _Police are asking that if you have any information regarding Gaelin's whereabouts, or any information concerning either case, to please contact the Milton County's sheriff department right away at nine-four-seven…."_

The reporter continued talking, but Audrey found the words blotted out by the sound of her heartbeat; her breathing became shallower, and the world around her steadily started to feel like it was closing in on her. She brought a hand to her chest to try and calm herself, staring at the screen in shock.

Gaelin was…missing?

He…he was a suspect? In a _double murder?_

"Audrey?"

She looked at her father. He still sat on the couch, but now he was looking and forth between her and the screen.

"Do you know that boy, _kjaere?_ " he asked, putting the remote down on the coffee table.

Audrey let out a shaky breath, looking at the ground. She shook her head in disbelief, pulling at the dual colored locks falling around her shoulders.

"He couldn't…that's not…he's not…" she muttered to herself, taking a step back towards the kitchen. A thousand questions raced through her mind, dozens of thoughts and scenarios flashing before her eyes, all of them leading back to Gaelin. Overwhelmed, Audrey turned on her heel and raced to the kitche, swiping her phone off the counter as she raced towards the stairs.

"Audrey!" her father called behind her. She ignored him, clicking open her lockscreen as she ran up to her room, thumbs rapidly typing out a response to Kim.

 _Yeah…I saw. Fuck, man…_

Kim immediately typed her back.

 _Kim: Do….do you think he did it?_

Audrey stopped outside her room, staring at the question intensely. Her thumbs froze above the keyboard.

It suddenly became hard for her to swallow.

 _Of course he didn't do it!_ she mentally screamed, _Gaelin wasn't a fucking psychopath. He was just misunderstood, always getting the blame and bullshit from everyone for shit he didn't do. He had his moments of having enough, but he wouldn't fucking murder in cold blood._

And yet, when she went to type as much, she hesitated.

But…why though? Didn't she believe the words she was saying? She knew Gaelin, had talked to him, saw him at his worst and knew things about him the kids at school would only imagine. She truly believed he was incapable of doing such a thing…didn't she?

Just then, her phone rang.

Audrey withheld a shriek as she jumped, nearly dropping it and having to fumble before it hit the ground. She looked at the screen. A phone number that was in no way familiar to her was plastered across it, the area code saying it was…somewhere in Oregon?

Furrowing her brow, Audrey pressed 'Answer', holding it to her ear.

"Hello?" she asked slowly.

" _Audrey?"_

She swore her heart stopped.

"G..Gaelin?" she said unsurely after a few minutes of silence.

" _Hey,"_ his voice said casually from the other end, " _Just wanted to call and drop in."_

"Drop in…"

Audrey suddenly paused, looking over her shoulder. Double checking the hallway to make sure neither of her parents were in hearing range, she stormed into her room, closing and locking the door behind her and trecking to the back where her closet lay. She held both hands to the phone, fiercely whispering, "What are you doing, calling me right now? _"_

" _What? I can't have one last chat with my friend?"_ he asked.

"One last…Gaelin," Audrey replied, lowering her voice, "W-What happened, w-where were you last night? T-There's stuff all over the news saying that…that there's all this police at your house, that your a suspect, that-that your parents found two dead guys-"

" _I know,"_ Gaelin responded calmly, " _I killed them."_

Audrey froze, her mouth dropping open. Whatever she was going to say next died in her throat at his words over the phone.

A chill ran down her spine.

"…What?" she finally asked, her mind a blank.

" _I killed them,"_ Gaelin said, not even a hint of unease in his voice, " _Slaughtered them like chickens to the chopping block. I took a weapon, waited for the right moment, and when it came, I brutalized them both until they were near unrecognizable. I bashed one's brains in, and the other I stabbed him, over and over, until all the blood left his body."_

It was wrong. His words and everything about them, they were all wrong. The admission, the tone of voice- like he were saying what the fucking weather was- the _lack of hesitation_ …it was all so, so wrong. A wave of nausea flopped in Audrey's stomach, and for a second she thought she was going to be sick. Her palms started to sweat, and she swore she was starting to feel light-headed.

"…the guy who picked us up from the party," she finally choked out, "The one they….they found last week…did you…?"

" _That one was an accident…kinda,"_ Gaelin admitted, not sounding the least bit remorseful or upset, " _Everyone was going kinda crazy, and you know, heat of the moment makes us do crazy things and all."_

"Gaelin…" her voice came out in a squeak.

She swallowed hard, trying to clear her throat to get rid of the lump in it.

"Gaelin," Audrey repeated, her words a little more steady, "You…you have to turn yourself in. Just…j-just come back, w-wherever you are. We could meet up, I'll go with you, w-w-we could get this whole mess cleared out-"

" _Yeaaaaah, no, not gonna happen,"_ he cut her off.

Audrey licked her lips, "Where are you?"

" _I'm not telling you."_

"Gaelin!"

This was wrong, all wrong. There was no way she was talking to her friend over the phone, with him admitting he had committed three murders. There was no way. This had to be some sort of a sick joke. A weird, tasteless fucking prank, _something_ that wasn't this.

" _I don't want to talk about them, though,"_ he continued, " _I'm not in the mood and I don't have much time. I just called to say goodbye._

" _I've finally seen it, Audrey,"_ he said, " _For the longest time after my father died, I thought that was it for me, that I had nothing else, but I FINALLY see it; I finally understand what my purpose is. You probably won't understand, and I don't expect you to, but I get it, now: I know what I need to do, and this is only the beginning. I'm going to help make this world a better place._

" _I'm going to do my part. No more sitting around feeling sorry for myself. I'm going to get out there and make sure that nobody else suffers like I had to suffer. That everyone gets their due. The people in charge are corrupt and incompetent and just care about how they can use everyone else's suffering for their own wants, and I'm going to change that. I'm going to this world of those bastards one at a time. And I've got my friends by my side to help me. We're going to show them all that everyone gets what's coming to them. Everyone."_

Audrey bit her lip. To her surprise, she could feel tears coming to her eyes. A spike of fear shot up in her chest, and goosebumps erupted on her skin as she looked around her room, like there was someone else there, watching her every movement. She looked at her phone, whimpering. Like at any second Gaelin was going to pop out and do to her what he did to those guys.

After a few seconds, she finally brought her phone back to her ear. Her breath came out shallow, and it took much more effort than she wanted to hold back the urge to sob. "Gaelin, p-please don't do this. I-I-I don't know why this all happened, o-or who those guys are, or if they deserved it-"

" _Oh, trust me, they did."_

"But please," she begged, choosing to ignore his comment, "…please, just think about this. It doesn't need to go like this. I-I mean, what will your family think? Y-Your mom? Your sister? T-Think about them and what you're leaving, what are they supposed to-"

She stopped when she heard Gaelin chuckle from the other end.

" _Oh, my dearest Audrey, always looking out for me,"_ he said softly, " _You know, one of my few regrets is that I never did take the chance to ask you to go out with me."_

Audrey's lip curled, and she could feel tears start to spill down her cheeks. She wept, "Gaelin…"

" _I have to go,"_ was all he said, " _But before I do, I just want to…Please, don't worry about me. Live your life, be happy. It's too late for me, but I know you can defy the odds. Become better than all those who laugh at us think you can._

" _And Audrey…thank you. For everything."_

There was a small beeping sound, before the line went totally dead.

Audrey ripped her phone from her ear, staring at the screen. Tears streamed down her face, dripping off the bottom of her chin and hitting the floor. Her knees wobbled, like they were getting sapped the strength to keep her upright. Her arms fell at her sides, her phone falling out of her hand and dropping onto the carpeted floor.

A single sobbed ripped from Audrey's throat, and she fell onto her knees as she lost it completely.

* * *

"Do you think he will be all right?"

Gabriel looked up from the counter, pausing in counting the change in the register to spare a glance at his wife. Hilary was staring at him with a quizzical look, a bottle of cleaner and a rag in her hands as she stood halfway turned near one of the shelves.

"I certainly like to think he will," he answered as he put the remaining bills back in the register, pushing it shut, "He's a bright young man, he's got the tools at his disposal, and I have no doubt that wherever he's got his mind set on, it will certainly be to help him with whatever plans he has."

Hilary nodded, pondering this, before she turned back to the shelf, running the rag between the empty spaces between the toys, "Oh, I don't doubt that he has good intentions for wherever he plans on heading after all this mess. I will say, though, I do worry if this whole ordeal may prove rather overwhelming for him. He's got quite big shoes to fill, being the new puppet master."

"Yes, but Gaelin is mere ordinary fool just looking for entertainment in the supernatural, Hilary," Gabriel reminded her, "He is not someone who is just looking for personal benefit, like Gallagher or Magrew. I could see it in his eyes when he came by. He has that drive, that understanding of the purity and harmony of toys that brings people together and the desire to protect it. He carries with him the same vision that Andre sought out, and I have no doubt in my mind that he will strive to achieve it."

He smiled as he looked to her, holding up a small marionette flamingo.

"And," he added, "I have a good feeling that with the puppets help, nothing will stand in the way of his achievement. No matter what they need to do."

Hilary smiled in agreement, chuckling to herself. She looked out of the window, noticing a police cruiser parked across the street in front of the bakery, two uniformed officers standing around its doors talking to each other. Her smiled deepened, although now it had a considerable darker feel to it.

"Those poor men," she suddenly said, shaking her head in pity. Gabriel looked at her, confused, before he followed her gaze out the window. He grinned when he realized what she was looking at, realizing what she was talking about.

"They try their best," Hilary continued, "Turn over every leaf, talk to every person they can, track every little speck of dust, and yet they will only come up short."

"Short amount of evidence for a short killer," Gabriel joked, and the two burst out laughing.

Gabriel looked back towards the policeman, a glint in his eye as he lingered, before he looked back down at the inventory.

He felt no need to worry. Gaelin knew what he was doing; he could see it in the way he regarded the puppets, speaking to them not as an authority towards his subjects, but that of an equal, a leader who wanted input from his fellow teammates. He treated them only with respect and asked little of them, only that they care and look out for him with the same level he did they. He looked to them not as a man who held the lives of sentient puppets in his hands, but as an equal who watched over them like a parent with a child. The kind of relationship that Andre had had with them, a relationship that steadily got rarer with every person the puppets were passed around to who was able to figure out how to use the formula.

Gabriel grinned slyly. And with that relationship, they would be unstoppable.

They would seek to do what they felt was right, and no man or woman would be spared if they got in the way.

* * *

She hadn't moved even an inch when he had left to talk to the detective. She remained in the exact same position, her blue eyes despondent and unseeing as they stared blankly at the wall across from her. The cup of water he had gotten her remained untouched.

Paul frowned heavily. Earlier she couldn't stop crying, bawling her eyes out until her face was so red and puffy it looked like she rubbed her eyes with poison ivy, and sobbed so much she made herself vomit (or whether that was from the horror, he didn't know). He tried everything to calm her down, but now that she was, he wasn't sure that this was much better.

"Max."

She didn't respond. She sat as still as a statue, her eyes still staring at the wall. Paul's frown deepened. He didn't like that. Not one bit.

" _Maxine."_

That seemed to snap her out of it; she blinked a few times, before she slowly looked up at him, looking a bit startled. Max looked around, like she didn't know where she was.

"What….how long have we been here?" she asked.

"About forty-five minutes," he reminded her, "I needed to speak to the detective privately after we gave our statement…remember?"

She nodded, though the expression on her face read like she still didn't quite grasp where they were. It made Paul bristle; he tried not to let it show, but seeing her this way scared him shitless. He had seen that kind of look only a few times, but he had seen it enough to know that it was never good. He needed to get her help right away, because something told him if he wasn't careful, he was going to lose her. Just like they had been close to losing-

Paul stopped himself.

He grit his teeth, and felt his fists clench.

No, they hadn't been close. They _had_ lost him. He knew that from the moment the bodies were identified and found him missing and put two and two together.

 _Gaelin…_ he thought with rage.

Who else could've done it?

" _What did you just say?"_

" _Miranda says she left early. She says Gaelin came home right before nine and told her he'd take over. Her mom says she'd been home ever since."_

Paul felt disgusted. Sickened. Angry. Scared. A whole whirlwind of things.

He didn't want to bask in the glory; didn't want to say 'I told you so' or let it be known he had been right all along. He felt no pleasure nor took any comfort from the thought. Instead, all he felt was anger.

How could Gaelin do this?

How could he do this to _them?_ To his mother? To Josie- what if Josie had been the one to come down and find Isaac and the other boy? What if she had walked in on the act?

The thought of it all made Paul's jaw clench.

They were in for a MASSIVE shit show. People were definitely going to talk. He'd probably try to get people at work tried to make inferences so they could get the juicy details. No doubt Max's company would never probably live it down. And Josie….what where they going to tell Josie? The kids in her class had parents who talked with Max on enough occasions. They knew plenty about Gaelin. They'd probably become wary, somehow think that it was on Max that caused Gaelin do this, probably even think that whatever he "had", there was a chance Josie had it too. Josie wouldn't understand any of it, but what could they tell her? She would grow up in the dark, her only source of information maybe being malicious rumors, misinformation, and half-truths.

Max would no doubt blame herself. She would ponder over and over again what the signs were, if she could've and should've done something differently, how she didn't see it coming. She would believe it was her fault. She would be lost on how to deal with this, how to cope. And most of all, she would grieve, as now she had not only lost her husband, but now was losing her child.

Did Gaelin think about any of this?

How this would affect the girls?

Did he even _care_?

The thought of that made a new flush of anger run through Paul.

Of course he didn't.

If he did care, he would have never done any of this.

And to think he did…to leave them to clean up the mess, to pick up the pieces and carry on living with the burden of what _he_ did…Paul was infuriated.

As he came to know Gaelin and watch him grow up, he grew to love him. His love only grew once he and Max became involved.

But in this moment, Paul didn't think he ever hated his stepson more.

* * *

The sun is bright and hot as it stands high in the sky, which is a perfect shade of sapphire blue. The few clouds that dot it are white as winter snow, slowly drifting in little fluffs along the horizon.

The truck stop is really nothing more than an old, dirty, worn down bathroom in the middle of nowhere that doesn't even have paper towels, but I figured it'd do me good to get some air for once. That, and if I have to hear the old lady in front of me constantly talk about her dumb grandkids I'm going to smack somebody.

I look out on either side of the road. One side is filled with luscious green forest, pine trees that are stories high casting shadows across the entire length of the pavement, while the other side is pretty much barren wasteland, a desert of sharp rocks and train tracks behind rusting fences. There's not another sign of civilization within eyesight for miles on end. Nothing but grey road.

I turn back to the payphone, my hand still on the handle of the phone after hanging up on Audrey.

I don't know why I felt compelled to call her, or make the last person I ever have contact with in that shitty town. Maybe because I realize I never really let it be known that I appreciated her friendship; or maybe there was a part of me trying to be all typical angsty teen romcom guy and admit my feelings of a thing that will never be. I don't know. Either way, it doesn't matter. That's the end of that.

Turning to the right, I look into my reflection of the glass surrounding the payphones. Lowering my shades down on my nose, I look at my hair, running one of my hands through it, examining the reddish brownish locks.

The hair dye said it was supposed to be a dark red, but in my rush to get it done with- hey, when the best offered to you in the moment is a cramped gas station bathroom, you can't really afford to lounge- it came out more of a messy, uneven auburn color. Not that it's necessarily a bad thing. It looks decent enough…to me at least.

 _Just give me a sword and call me Robb Stark,_ I think jokingly. I figured that with my picture most likely being all over state news, I should probably change up my appearance a little. I would've done it back at the house, but I was already biding time just being there after doing away with the guys. Plus it would've left clues to the police, and I don't really need to be doing anything that only serves to help them. No matter; a simple coloring job and a few swipes of the comb, and I, amazingly, almost don't recognize myself. I think I'm pulling it off pretty well for a first time escape.

There's a small _ding!_ up ahead. I look at the electronic sign hanging from under the benches of the stop.

 _Route 434: Southbound to Medford, leaving in 10 minutes._

I take the extra few minutes to count the change I have from the payphone, stuffing it into my pockets, before I adjust my bags and head towards the bus. I push my shades back on so I'm not blinded by the sunlight. The driver, an old black man, greets me with a small smile.

Luckily, I seem to be one of the first people to get on, so I head to the very back row. I put my duffle bag up on the overhead compartment and make myself comfortable in the far right window seat. I slide off my backpack and plop it between my legs. I take a brief look around, raising my head to make see if there's anyone close enough to overhear me. The only other passengers on right now are a chick wearing a pair of thick black headphones over her green hair in the fourth row, and a man with a little girl sitting a little ways off to my left. Then, dipping my head, I quickly unzip the backpack and pull the halves back, peering in.

"You guys doing all right in there?" I whisper, looking as the puppets' little heads come into view.

They all make a variety of hisses, Pinhead giving me a thumbs up with a satisfied grunt. I smile.

"How's the jar? No cracks or breaks?" I ask.

Blade's mouth falls open as he makes a sound, and him and Tunneler hold up the jar for me to see. I take it from them, trying to examine it while keeping it out of sight of anyone who may come passing by. No visible damage to the glass or weird coloring in the formaldehyde. So far, so good.

"Good, good," I say as I give the jar back to Tunneler, "Just remember: the second you think something's not right, or notice even the tiniest break or leak or anything, don't hesitate to let me know. Just pop out one of your fingers in the hole, and I'll make sure it's fixed."

Blade nods, and I give them a reassuring smile before I zip the bag back up. Good timing, too, because right as I sit up, some guy with a knapsack dressed in running clothes sits in the across from me, giving me a brief look before he puts in earbuds.

I lean back against my seat, staring out of the window. I tap my fingers on my jeans, wishing I had considered the thought of bringing my iPod. I left my phone at the house- can't risk them using some kind of app to track me, not to mention I'm not going to really be using it anymore- but it completely slipped my mind of bringing something else to listen to besides background noises. Oh, well. You live and you learn.

Slowly, more people start to board the bus, and the driver calls out a five minute warning. When the time is up, I feel the bus start to vibrate as he starts the engine, before we slowly start to lurch forward as he pulls out of the parking area.

As the landscape passes by, I think about what I'm going to do once we get to where we're supposed to be. Obviously I'm going to need to figure out a space to live, since it's kind of going to be hard assembly a chemistry set to make new formula on the streets or under a bridge. I have a feeling, though, it shouldn't be too hard. Just have to lay low for a while, sneak around a bit, and shelter should be provided in no time. There's also the issue of how I'm going to get money, but I have a feeling if everything works out, and I just bullshit my way through an interview, that I should get secured.

I grin darkly when I think about the destination I have in mind.

Sitting up, I lean forward a little to dig around in the pocket of my backpack, pulling out a small pamphlet. I flip it over to the front, re-reading the text presented on it.

 _ **Enjoy Your Days at Bodega Bay!**_

 _Thirty years after its first introduction, owner Buzz Gilkretch is proud to announce that after almost twenty-five years of limbo, the Bodega Bay Inn hotel will be launching a grand re-opening, complete with all new staff, a brand new renovated set-up, and the promise of new adventures to come for its guests._

 _The Inn has been known to be a popular attraction to many in the California area; some of its celebrity guests have included Carole Lombard, Clark Gable, and her majesty, Elizabeth II. It gained infamy, however, after a series of strange unexplained events in the late 1980s and early 90s was said to have resulted in the bizarre deaths of sixteen people; though numerous investigations were conducted, no official suspect was ever brought to justice, and the murders have since gone unsolved. However, the events spawned numerous rumors about the hotel, and the horrific nature surrounding it caused its rates to plummet, before its original owners declared bankruptcy and its doors were closed indefinitely._

 _Now, the mystery of the deaths and what exactly happened have spawned somewhat of a folklore of the hotel and even of the Bodega Bay area. Gilkretch says, however, that whatever questions and inferences people have about the hotel based on these assumptions, are nothing but ghost stories._

" _Whatever may or may not have happened during these dark times of the hotel, they are since passed," he commented, "All those who originally worked in the hotel, stayed there, saw or heard whatever, they're gone now. And with them is whoever is behind those deaths. This is our chance to do over. With new people, new designs, new goals and aspirations. People can think what they like, but we're not going to shut down something has quite a bit of family history based on mere hearsay."_

 _The Bodega Bay Inn's grand re-opening has been announced for May 25_ _th_ _._

I smirk, re-reading the words.

I pull out the small map I have. It's an hour drive to Medford. Using the appropriate bus schedules, I should be able to get to California by late afternoon tomorrow. And from there, we should be arriving in Bodega Bay by nightfall.

I hold back a laugh. Call me dramatic, but I think it's the most fitting location.

What better place to relocate than at the same place where it all happened?

They'll never know what hit them.

I stuff both things back into my backpack, grinning as I stretch out along my seat, folding my hands behind my head as I lay back.

Oh, yes.

This will be _quite_ fun.

* * *

 _Epilogue is up next! So don't turn in just yet!_


	43. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

* * *

 _Three months later…._

* * *

I watch as the liquid boils in the jar, the apple green elixir slowly moving up the tube, before slowly dripping into the jar, nearly glowing in the dim light. My heart is pounding, every single drip sounding amplified two hundred times with its descent into the growing pool. A steady sweat has begun to wet my brow; I can feel my palms slip on the table edge.

The puppets are all gathered around, watching me with the same intensity. They're nearly bouncing on their heels, constantly looking between me and the getup. They're just as excited as I am.

The very last drop of the elixir drips into the jar, the boiling slowly becoming less prominent, until it lessens to a gentle simmer, before the top bubbles and sits still completely. I smile. Finally, it's done.

I take a look at where she lays, her body still and in perfect condition on the metal tray that's functioning as an operating table. I look over her, admiring her details and colors.

After weeks of stressing and staying up all night and having to work extra hard to get the right parts, she's finally here. I will admit, I doubted myself at the beginning when I decided to make several changes to her design, feeling like it wasn't turning out right and that when it came time to carve what was necessary, the whole thing was going to turn out wrong. But in the end, it was so worth it. Everything is perfect. _She's_ perfect.

Turning away from her, I walk over to the table and pick up the syringe. I grab the jar, poking the needle slowly through the rubber cap. The puppets hiss giddily, and I can see them starting to bounce up and down out of the corner of my eyes. I smirk.

Surprisingly, settling in hasn't been half as hard as I thought it would be. The puppets found me a nice wooden shed a little ways off from the hotel that we quickly took up residence at, and I'd like to think I can proudly say it's my home now. Though, I'm pretty sure the puppets probably killed someone here before; seems a little too easy that they'd know exactly where to go to find this. Whatever. Shit happens. I'm not complaining.

It was even easier getting a job at the hotel. They were understaffed, needed some new housekeepers (apparently many aren't too keen on the idea of cleaning rooms that some poor woman may have got her face drilled through in), and were desperate enough to let me in without even so much as me providing a resume when I told them I was kind of one the streets and was having a rough time starting again. They never even thought twice. Suckers.

Being a housekeeper can certainly be frustrating- nasty assholes think just because someone's gonna give them new towels and make their beds that they can lose all means of human decency and live like pigs in a sty- but it does has its perks. I don't have to talk to people all that much, I get hours on end to myself, the pay's pretty good.

And, it also gives me a little peak into who should be the next ingredient for whenever the puppets need a refill.

We've been keeping on the down low- target those away from the hotel, make sure they in a place where nobody can see, that way there's not such a strong pattern of consistency that it can be traced back to here so soon- but so far, it's been pretty smooth sailing. Keep track of where they're going for the day, make sure they're far away enough that nobody will see us, and then hit 'em where it hurts. As far as I can tell, nobody's expected anything too much just yet. I had to rush these last few weeks, though, in order to compensate for both the puppets and the project. Why just one needs an entire jar's worth of a fluid is something I'll never understand. Oh, well.

The puppets don't seem to mind, though. In fact, they seem thrilled about the challenge of hunting more.

It also serves to give me some updates as to what's going on back home, since I don't have any high grade tech with me to keep me informed. There's still a warrant out for my arrest, though as I suspected, they haven't had much luck. According to Facebook- which I looked at on the phone of the abusive girlfriend Pin and I strangled- Mom and Paul have separated. Bit of a shame, Paul was always good to her. Her and Josie have moved out of state, and are living near Grandma supposedly. Which kind of sucks considering I grew up in that house, but oh well. Audrey's going to go to Gonzaga, majoring in theatre. I'm glad; at least one of us is able to get out of that shithole in tact.

There's also been a whole sob story in the news questioning what "led me to such bloodlust" of such "innocent people with their whole lives ahead of them". Yeah, right. Because a pedophile and a murderer really deserve their whole lives ahead of them. Not that I care that much anymore- they're both out of the way, Isaac will never get near Josie again, and McAllister had it coming a long time. They're gone, and that's all that matters.

I turn back to where she lays, holding the syringe at eye level. I flick my finger against it a few times to dispel any blockage before I lean down, picking her up by her shoulders and rolling her over.

I spare a glance over my shoulder at the puppets.

They wave their arms at me, their hissing growing louder like they're trying to tell me to get on with it.

I chuckle, "I'm going. Just teasing you all a little."

I insert the edge of the needle into the little metal ring on the back of her neck, pushing it in a good few centimeters before I squeeze the plunger. I make sure to dispense it all, before I gently pull it back out, resting it beside me as I set her back down and wait.

She just lies there for a few seconds, as still as a corpse in the grave, before I see a little twitch in her hands. Then a jerk in her shoulder. Then a shake of her head.

Little by little, I can see her limbs twitch and turn as the elixir flows through her veins, starting up her mechanical heart. Her fingers flex and her head moves from side to side as she becomes more animated. Then, she suddenly sits up, looking around as she tries to get a grip of her surroundings.

She's finally here.

After all my hard work and months of devotion, after nights of slaving away, she's finally awake. Awake and alive.

My precious work.

My little Comb Queen.

Her outfit has been revamped to one more fitting of her theme, her old southern belle blue dress now replaced with a rounded black and yellow striped skirt and a darker yellow bodysuit patterned with octagons to give off the impression of a honeycomb. Her dark blonde hair is pinned and hairsprayed down into a beehive, with a dark yellow headband running over her bangs that has two little black antennae on it. A black hat rests on the top, a long black translucent veil running from the brim- completely covering her face and drooping all the way to underneath her bust. Little black boots rest on her feet, and to complete the little theme, a little plastic bee figurine rests on her hat. Her eyes that stare with confusion and apprehension are painted black, with little octagon shapes painted near the corners to give the fake impression of a glint. She's beautiful.

So beautiful you'd never think about the fine tip spikes that rest in both of her palms until it's too late.

I'm quite impressed, if I do say so myself. I had some trouble coming up with what I wanted her theme to be- want to her fit in with the rest of her siblings, you know?- but I wanted something catchy that played along the lines of so cartoony, you'd never think she had something up her sleeve until she stabbed you in the neck, kind of deal. At least, _I_ think it's creative. Plus, I thought that it was time Leech had a companion she could relate to besides her brothers. They're both around the same structure- more doll-like than puppet- so she was of the most help when it came time to putting Comb together.

I almost gave up in frustration when it came time putting the spikes in her hands; hell, I even poked myself a few times. The puppets, however, wouldn't let me. They pretty much told me to just keep the faith, that it would all work out. And what do you know? Miracles do happen.

And it worked out so well. She's here now, alive and ready to take on the world. I wonder if this is how a parent must feels when their baby is born.

She jumps slightly when she looks at me. I just smile, lowering myself so I'm eye level with her.

"Hello there," I greet warmly, "Welcome to the world, my little one."

She stares at me for a moment, staring at me with blank eyes, like she doesn't know whether to trust me. She then looks to the puppets, slowly looking them up and down, one by one. They hiss, sounding like a bed of snakes. They wave their hands around, obviously more than excited to meet their new sister.

Leech Woman is the first one to break the ice, hopping down from her seat on the small stack of books on the corner, walking over to Comb Queen and extending a hand, a small smile framing her painted red lips. Comb stares at her hand for a few seconds, before she slowly takes it, getting to her feet. Leading from Leech's example, the rest of the puppets gather around them, extending their hands to Comb and regarding her with wonder. They probably haven't gone through something like this in years.

I smile, watching them. I'm so glad that everything worked out fine. And they've been so helpful, guiding me through the steps of my first time.

"These are your siblings," I address Comb, "They'll always be there to help you, if you find you have any questions. And of course, you can always come to me. You might find it may take some getting used to, but I assure you you'll find yourself feeling acquainted in no time."

Comb Queen looks back at me.

Softly, to my absolute glee, I hear a small cooing noise in the back of her throat, before she does a curt nod in my direction, waving her arm in what I believe to be the closest thing to an agreement.

"Great," I respond, "I'm glad to see you agree."

The puppets and her conversate in their little sound language, and Blade looks up at me, giving me a satisfied nod as he tips his hat with his hook. I smile, patting him on the head.

I look out the window to the night sky. It's a clear night tonight, the moon a shining pearl scattered across a dark blue blanket of small diamonds. Outside it's quiet, except for the steady hum of cicadas. Some ways away, people sleep soundly in their beds, unaware of what is going on in this shed at this moment, or how this may come to affect them in the future.

But sooner or later, they'll know.

Oh, they will _know_.

I chuckle to myself, thinking back to the day when I was just another dumb teen who thought he was just adding to his collection when he bought a bunch of morbid-looking puppets for a pretty good deal. When I was nothing but a slug going through the motions and wondered if I was even going to see the next day, wondering if anything was going to be fine again.

But it turned out fine.

I spare a look over my shoulder at the puppets, who are deeply involved with talking to Comb Queen as she looks between all of them. My smirk grows as I think about all the future victims I have in mind, and when I can get her in on the action.

Yes.

Everything turned out juuuuust fine….

* * *

 _A/N: Aaaaaaand, that's curtains, people!_

 _Just want to say a huge, HUGE thank you to those who took the time to read, review, follow, and favorite. It's no walk in the park when it comes in writing fanfic, and when you're writing such for a fandom that is very small in numbers like Puppet Master, the stress of wondering if anyone is bearing your work any mind can pile on you. But I was determined to see this story flesh out the best way I can and finish it, so I'd like to extend my greatest gratitude to those who took a chance on me and Strings._

 _Some of you may already know this, but I actually first started Strings circa 2012- back when I was a much, much weaker writer and thought I needed to jump into my newest project as soon as possible. As you could probably tell, it didn't work out too well; I lost motivation and interest, I was completely lost on where to take the story (I was also juggling writing Deceitful Things, as well as my work on Fictionpress at this time too), and eventually, as I went back and re-read the chapters I did put out, I got so frustrated by the poor writing (caused by both a mix of inexperience and just putting out chapters for the sake of quantity per week and not quality) and cliché, over the top characters that I decided it just wouldn't do, and deleted it._

 _But, my main reason for writing fanfic has really always been for myself, to put my writing skills to the test and to piece concepts I come up with together to see how I can make a fully fledged story play out in physical format; so, after some pondering, and a Puppet Master New Year's marathon on the El Rey network, I decided I wanted to see Gaelin's journey out to the end, so here we are. And I don't regret it._

 _I was a bit surprised, since I never planned on this being as long as it did- as of this publication, it is officially my longest story, in terms of chapters and word length. I will say, that's probably due to (in my personal critique) is my tendency to put in what I feel like was a bit too many filler chapters in an attempt to try and keep the flow steady, but it is what it is and I'm pretty happy with how it turned out._

 _If anyone's interested, I've actually thought about making a post on my Tumblr about how I_ originally _planned on Strings turning out (how things, if I had kept up the original draft, were originally going to end, what major events would happen, what changed, etc), so if you're curious to see how things may have turned out (for better or worse), make sure to look up the tag 'puppet master' on my Tumblr account (VirgoGreen) over the next few days._

 _And please, feel free to check out my other work! It would mean a lot!_

 _Before I end this, I think I should also announce that there's not only going to be one, but two new Puppet Master films in the works! Axis Termination (the final one in the Axis trilogy) is set to come out some time this year, and a reboot, "Puppet Master: The Littlest Reich" is currently in the works (they've actually just released photos showcasing Blade and Tunneler's new designs, as well as that of a new premiere puppet, Happy Amphibian)! So be sure to track and check those out!_

 _Once again, thank you so much to all those who read, reviewed, and favorited. You guys are the best and you help me keep doing what I do._

 _Sincerely,_

 _~Sapphire Ox_


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